Weequay: Month of Plenty
by Yex
Summary: Yala Sard and Krun Sha'ee the Weequay, a pair of bounty hunters and smugglers for the Desilijic Kajidic, navigate the streets of Nal Hutta on the holiest Weequay holiday of the Month of Plenty, facing adventure and intrigue armed with devotion to Quay, lunar god of the Weequays.
1. Chapter 1

**_For Jane_**

**_Dedicated to Caisson _**

"Glory to Quay in his waxing, for in him is the source of all bounty, and in him is the greatest fullness."

Yala Sard placed a resinous lump of incense upon the burning coal in the censer. The smoke wafted up in front of the large crystalline orb of milky white, the embodiment of the one to whom she addressed her words. She paused for a moment, closed her eyes, and inhaled. The pungent smell of the incense mixed with the faintly sweet scent emanating from the figure seated next to her, also kneeling on his knees, his eyes also closed. The floral aroma was rarely dispensed from his weequay physiology, reserved only for moments such as this, when rapt in the ecstatic embrace of mystical oneness with his creator.

Emerging from the flood of hypnagogic imagery that met her behind her closed eyelids, Yala looked back at the altar to Quay and at the chalice that sat nearby the spherical idol, its polished silver reflecting the glow of the coal, and the circle of carved moonstone, embedded prominently and surrounded by glyphs of an archaic weequay dialect, reflecting the spirit of the lunar deity presiding over the ceremony.

She lifted the cup, and said, "Glory to Quay in his waning, for in him is freedom from all bonds, and in him the ultimate surrender". She put the cup to her lips, and drank deeply of the _Ko'nu_ wine. Wine was a loose translation – the drink was the fermented milk of the fearsome, canyon-dwelling bandigo beasts. To track a female bandigo protecting her cubs and subdue her long enough gather enough milk to make _Ko'nu_ was quite a feat, and so the drink was reserved for religious rituals of the greatest importance. The scarcity of the beverage also made it expensive to procure, particularly on worlds away from Sriluur. Pious weequays living off-world flocked to the few weequay-owned specialty import stores that carried it, and even there the drink usually sold out quickly in the days leading up to the high holy days on the Month of Plenty.

Yala withdrew the chalice from her lips, savoring the acrid, lactic taste of the precious libation. She passed it to her Weequay companion. Without opening his eyes, he allowed the chalice to pass from her hands to his own, raised it, and took a long, slow sip of the sour, frothy milk. He finished, and as he placed the goblet back on the altar, a rare smile crept subtly over his face, a slight upturn of the corners of his lipless mouth that flowed into the labyrinthine network of wrinkles that covered his entire leathery, brown skin. Yala noticed, and for but a moment her devotion to Quay was interrupted by reverie as she reflected upon the beauty of the Weequay's face. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The Weequay glanced over at Yala, and as his eyes caught hers, her love for him flowed back into her love for her god until the two were indistinguishable. Raising her palms upward, she prayed, "Glory to Quay, and may we follow him forever and ever. Glory to Quay, on the holiest of days. There is no force greater than Quay. Hail Quay!"

"Hail Quay", repeated the Weequay.

Again the two closed their eyes, and they sat before the altar, experiencing the inner secrets known only to those who possess true piety in the veneration of their god. The room was nearly silent, the stillness only adulterated by the sizzle of the incense on the coal, the countless rain drops that beat steadily on the windowpane, and the rhythm of the two initiates' breath, but they were unaware of these distractions, lost totally in their oneness with Quay. Only with the cessation of the smoke rising from the censer and the final sizzle of the coal as it met its end did the two open their eyes and rise to their feet.

Yala rubbed her eyes, and again became aware of the storm outside. She turned towards the window to watch the downpour, but then turned back around face her companion, and asked, "How did I do?"

This time, the Weequay did not smile; his face retained the unchanging graveness characteristic of his people. To some it might resemble a scowl, but from the subtle, earthen scent, imperceptible to most, that had replaced the sweet smell from before, Yala recognized his mood to be affectionate. "You have done well, Weequay", he said.

To most observers, she did not look like a weequay. She appeared, by most accounts, an average human female. On the shorter side, perhaps, standing at scarcely more than a meter and a half. And young, certainly, perhaps 19 years old at the most. And true, to many eyes she was exceedingly beautiful. Her skin was fair, her hair dark, bundled in a loose bun that permitted a tendril or two to dangle as it may. Her high cheekbones, her aquiline nose, the unadorned softness of her lips, may have caused pause to some that beheld them, for while elegant, her countenance was accompanied by an intensity, the source of which was hard to identify. No one feature betrayed this acute quality, but it was unmistakably the mark of one who possesses the force of will and pursues it to its very end. Perhaps in this resolve, at once stoic and passionate, that clung to her like a weequay's pheromonal aura and carried no less of a message, she did possess the resemblance of that race. Still, most that looked upon her assumed her to be human. It was only her eyes – which like emeralds glimmered with a vibrant green, a green that flickered like a flame and yet stood definitely still like durasteel; a green that a painter would long for, but would never dare to use without diluting it – that betrayed her nonhuman origin. But they were no weequay eyes.

Yala glanced again at the window, and at the heavy raindrops landing in the glow of a streetlamp, still illuminated as the first light of dawn filtered through the heavy cover of clouds to grace the city below. She turned to her companion and said, "It's coming down hard. Check the weather".

The Weequay walked away from the altar and over to the other end of the living room, to a table littered with various communications devices. He passed over to the holoreceiver for planetary broadcasts, and flipped it on. The pale blue light of the hologram projector sputtered on, and soon the room was filled with its ghostly glow. The Weequay flipped the switch several times, landing on the right signal. A Twi'lek in a turtleneck started to say, "...haven't had a storm like this for as long as I've been reporting the weather. It's going to be a big one, folks. This rain that we're seeing now is just a shadow of what will come midday, and the real storm hits this evening…"

Yala continued to gaze down at the street. Her eyes strained in the dawn gloom to apprehend the heavy drops of rain as they terminated in the puddle on the Nal Hutta street-corner, but as the sunlight increased, her vision began to focus. Her gaze unbroken, she said, "The storm is auspicious".

Continuing to flip through various communication devices, the Weequay said, "It is auspicious, indeed, Weequay". He paused, and then continued, "It is written: _What star illuminates the way of the Weequay lost in the sandstorm? It is no starlight, but the moonbeams of Quay_".

As he spoke he clicked the dial of receiver for private communications. He flipped through them, and lingering for a moment on one, said, "We've been offered a bounty, easy and well-paying". At this Yala broke her glance from the torrent outside and looked over to him, and raised an eyebrow. He went on, "Quisa the Hutt's private jeweler, a zeuol, has been kidnapped. The job looks sloppy. Quisa is offering 15,000 credits for his return".

Yala laughed and said, "15 thousand for a jeweler! Quisa really is a strange Hutt. That_ is_ some easy money". Her voice betrayed a tone of enthusiasm, which landed in her own ears and made her recoil. A graveness fell over her, and she said, "Quay tempts us on this, the most holy of days".

"Very good, Weequay", replied her companion, and he emanated an aura of approval. He added, with some affection, "Your piety pleases Quay on this Month of Plenty". At this, she smiled softly.

Yala rose from where she was seated by the window. She gave a final glance at the street below, now becoming clear to her eyes as the day began in earnest, the first few early-rising denizens of the city beginning to trickle out onto the street to brave the storm. Wordlessly, she went left the room, went down a short hallway to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face in the sink. Her skin prickled as it readjusted to the humid heat that clung to the air. Her eyes caught themselves in the mirror's reflection, and dwelt there for a moment, before she turned away, finished up in the bathroom, and returned to the hallway. She opened the door to her own quarters, and there she removed the silvery, shimmering robe that clung to her body, a garment reserved for ceremony and unsuited to the day's activity. She replaced it with a short-sleeved, buttonless shirt and light trousers, both plucked from a pile, neutral in color and selected with little thought beyond the stifling heat.

As she began to leave, she stopped, and remembering the storm outside, she grabbed a purple rain poncho, still wet from the previous day's precipitation that the humidity had preserved, from where it had been unceremoniously discarded. Then she returned to the living area, where the lingering incense smoke from the dawn's rite still clung to the air. Her companion was no longer present, and so after another glance at the rain, now beating harder upon the window where she had stood before, she moved over to the small kitchen adjacent to the main living space. The dull grey countertops were bare, save for a single book placed intentionally the night before. She set the rain poncho aside on the counter, and approached the book. Dusting off the worn jacket of deep brown Sriluurian leather, she looked at the Sriluurian script of the title, which read: _Food to Please Quay: A Cookbook for the Month of Plenty_. Opening it, she carefully turned the fragile paper pages and quickly scanned them with her eyes as she moved through the precious volume's archive of traditional Sriluur cuisine: After-Dinner Pudding, Amber Salad, Anthive Soup, Aq'tur Liver Pate… she flipped forward to B, and landed on the entry marked Bantha Roast, subtitled _for the feast on the holiest of nights, in the traditional style_. Banthas were not native to Sriluur, but had been introduced in antiquity, and the recipe suited a weequay living off-world, where meat from indigenous Sriluur fauna was more difficult to acquire.

Yala opened the refrigeration unit, and glanced at its sparse contents. Save for the large cut of bantha meat reserved for the intended roast, and a jug of earthen brown that bore the a small marking indicating its role as a vessel for Ko'nu, little else dwelt here. Yala placed a hand on the jug, lifted it slightly, and with a flick of her wrist swished around its contents in appraisal of their volume. As she returned it to its place and shut the door of the refrigeration unit, she looked up to see her Weequay companion entering the room. He, too, had removed his ritual garb, and now wore a simple shirt and trousers, each a slightly different shade of light brown that seemed to flow into the deep brown of his skin, as if he were cloaked in the drab dust and dirt of his home planet.

"We're really low on Ko'nu", said Yala. "There's hardly enough left for a single cup. Should we get more?"

The Weequay paused for a moment in reflection, and then spoke. "We have not yet consulted Quay on this day. Is it not written: _Ask your questions of Quay often and frequently, and heed well his words_?

Yala nodded, and silently they again moved into the living space and over to the altar. They kneeled, and Yala watched as her companion removed a leather pouch from the shrine. He unwrapped it, and as the strip of leather rolled open it revealed several yellowed bones – weequay vertebrae.

Despite the importance of divination in the religion of Quay, few weequay still used genuine weequay vertebrae in discerning the edicts of their god. On Sriluur, it was now common to use various other types of bones in the casting of lots, and off-world, many Weequay had adopted the practice, often amusing to the profane eyes of nonbelievers and other species, of consulting a common, commercially available device, marketed to non-weequay as a children's toy, that contained pre-recorded messages that were randomly generated when a question was asked. The white plastic sphere was seen to represent the orb of Sriluur's moon, and was thus an alternative to the traditional methods that was not only more practical but also suitable for the sacredness of the activity. To eschew this modern convention in favor of the old ways was truly a mark of exceptional piety, not to mention an indicator of intimate familiarity with intricacies and obscurities of Quay's religion that even the devout had largely forgotten.

The Weequay cradled the bones in his palm, closed his eyes, breathed in, and then slowly exhaled. Yala watched with rapt attention. He spoke, "Great Quay, should we drink more Ko'nu on this, the holiest day of the Month of Plenty?" With a deft motion he let fly the vertebrae, as he did so, time seemed to slow down, and he could feel the movement of the force of Quay between his hand, the bones as they moved through the air, the surface upon which they would land, and the hot and humid air in which they seemed for an eternity to be suspended. He felt the force of Quay, flowing between these elements and binding them together, and Yala felt it, too. A moment later, the bones landed on the altar.

Yala, not yet able to discern the meaning, asked immediately, "What does it say?"

The Weequay looked down at the lots with instant recognition of their meaning, clear as though it had been spoken aloud. Nonetheless, he paused and stared at them for a long while, as Yala awaited his answer. Finally, he declared, "The will of Quay is clear. We must drink much more Ko'nu wine". He turned his palms upward towards the altar, again feeling the presence of Quay through the room, and said, "Hail Quay".

"Hail Quay", repeated Yala.

Her companion scooped up the divination tools in a single motion, and returned them to their container, tying it with care. Yala waited for him to finish, and then said, "It will be hard to find Ko'nu on this day".

He replied, chastising her, "Challenge is the path that a Weequay walks. Let us have faith in Quay". He detected a look of embarrassment in her eyes, and allowed his pheromonal scent to become gentler in tone. He added, "The Weequay who calls himself Ano Tal owes us a favor".

Yala looked once more at the window, and now the day had begun. Her eyes welcomed the light of morning, dim though it was underneath a sky so overcast. The rain was picking up. She said, "Still, we should make no delay in visiting him". Her companion nodded slightly in agreement.

Yala moved back over the counter, and retrieved the rain poncho, and pulled it over her head. It clung to her body from the neck down to her ankles, and covered her arms with long sleeves. Her drab clothes underneath remained visible yet brightened through the lens of the translucent purple plastic. She turned to her companion, already sporting a plain brown raincoat and putting on rain boots. Yala's vibrant raingear was incongruent with the dull tones of the rest of their collective wardrobes – indeed in the context of the muted tones of the stormy Nal Hutta morning, it seemed almost comical. The whimsy of it was dampened, perhaps, as she affixed two sling holsters over the poncho, their straps crisscrossing over her chest, with the holsters themselves dangling on either side of her waist as they rested on the violet poncho. In each holster she placed a model 434 DeathHammer blaster.

She put on galoshes, and stood and faced the Weequay, who was now similarly ready. Along his back was strapped a long, two-sided force pike, terminating at each end in a single point. Dressed and armed, without speaking, they left the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

"We should try to make it back as soon as possible", said Yala Sard to the Weequay as they walked through the downpour. "We need to get that roast in the oven in time for the Feast of Plenty". The water rushed by along the ground in a steady stream as they walked briskly up the slight incline of the sidewalk to their destination. The denizens of the Bilbousa had begun to pour out of their homes and into the streets of Nal Hutta's capital, spilling out buildings and slogging through the layer of water that now blanketed the town. Rivulets of morning commuters scurried through the rainy street, interweaving through the flow of rainwater as they rushed to their destination. A rodian gripping an overcoat tightly around his face bumped into Yala as he bustled past, and did not pause as he continued to run down the hill. Yala took no heed of the offender as he splashed by, but she stopped momentarily to adjust herself and redress a rogue lock of hair that dripped unwaveringly into her eyes. As she pushed it aside, she added, "If there's time, though, it would be nice to get a bite to eat on the way back".

"We will find time for breakfast on this day, Weequay", her companion responded gently, yet firmly. "The Month of Plenty is a time when such indulgences mark not weakness, but obedience to Quay". He fell silent for a moment as they continued to tramp through the plashet, and then resumed, "I remember, back on Sriluur, the pleasures of the holiest of days. From dawn to dusk, we satiated ourselves on food and drink, song and dance, game and whimsy, interrupted only by our many prayers. It is written: _The path of the Weequay is hardship and struggle, and Quay shines on those who do not flinch in the endless labor. For he has given us the Month of Plenty, which like the eye of the sandstorm is the center of our ceaseless strife, for the love of Quay's silver light is gilded with the highest joy_".

They turned a corner and continued onward. Soon, the signs of the shops they passed transitioned gradually from Huttese to a mix of Huttese characters and Sriluurian hieroglyphs, many displaying odd combinations of Huttese and Sriluurian words. "I guess there's no better time to come to Little Sriluur than today", said Yala.

"Indeed", replied her companion, "It is appropriate to travel here on this day. It is written: _On the Month of Plenty, a Weequay knows no clan, but walks freely amongst his brothers in the moonlight, sharing in the communion of Quay_"_._

They soon came to a weathered storefront, unremarkable save for the battered and worn sign that featured only Weequay hieroglyphs, indecipherable to the majority of Nal Hutta's inhabitants. The only other indicator marking the establishment was a strand of ropes interwoven with irregularly placed stones – a system of writing that mirrored the beaded braids that adorned the heads of male weequays. Save for a weequay's hair, this form of writing was rarely found off of Sriluur. Indeed, should a member of another species happen to wander into this corner of Bilbousa, they would likely not even have recognized the dangling token as writing at all, though nonetheless a more observant pedestrian might be struck by the distinctly weequayan sensibilities of this particular business, which though invisible and intangible, seemed to waft out from the dimly lit interior of the shop and disseminate into the wider web of the weequay diaspora that surrounded it.

The Weequay and Yala Sard entered the shop. Their nostrils were quickly assailed by the familiar mixture of Sriluurian incense, the seasonings of assorted Weequay foodstuffs, and the subtle aroma of the pheromones of the Weequay patrons, the latter undetectable to nearly all non-weequays, and even then only decipherable to the members of their given clans, but it was all a welcome comfort to the two entering the shop. Welcome indeed was the mélange that greeted them, a merciful reprieve from the all-pervasive stench that ceaselessly inhabited the Nal Hutta streets outside, emboldened now by the rainstorm, which elevated the usually putrid funk – which under normal conditions was found unbearable to the unacclimated – to a height so remarkable that it now caused distress even to Nal Hutta's residents; though perhaps not consciously so, as the stink blended with the staggering heat and humidity, the visceral downpour, and the many sordid dramas of the Nal Hutta morning to create a vague yet palpable feeling of being overwhelmed by so great a force as to defy comprehension, destined to ever linger in the background of consciousness. And yet to Yala Sard and her companion, the improvement in scent, the relief from the torrent outside, the cool darkness of the shop – these were secondary to the greater sense of wellbeing imparted by the cordial greetings of the shelves lined with common Sriluurian items that met their arrival, and by the presence the weequays who browsed amongst them as they searched for last-minute holiday supplies.

After a moment spent absorbing this change in ambiance, the pair glanced towards the counter, where, amidst a sea of curios ranging from divination implements, lighters adorned with the symbol of Quay, boxes of incense, and greeting cards in Sriluurian bearing messages related to the Month of Plenty, there sat in a wooden chair an elderly weequay smoking a long wooden pipe. The braids upon his head were white as snow, and numbered only three, indicating a recent pilgrimage to Sriluur – it was weequay custom to grow a single braid for each Sriluurian solar year that passed whilst one remained off-world, and to shave the head entirely upon arrival on their homeworld. Beside him stood a weequay youth, his arms crossed as he leaned against the counter, who sported a large shock of braids that numbered a few more than a dozen. The young Weequay carried the grimace was the resting facial expression of most Weequays, and though it was a common misconception of non-weequays that this look indicated any particular animosity, this particular representative of the species conveyed in his particular sneer the unmistakable air of boredom and frustration, apparent to weequay and non-weequay alike. As Yala Sard and her companion approached the counter, the lad reached into his deep pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and placing it in his mouth, lit it. He took a deep drag, but no sooner had he exhaled than the older weequay, with speed that defied his age, sprang to his feet and snatched it from the youth's mouth and in a single motion put it out in an ashtray submerged amongst the bric-a-brac.

"No smoking in the store!" the old weequay exclaimed, and then gave a rasping cough. "How many times must I tell you this?"

"You're smoking your pipe right now!" objected the young Weequay, speaking Huttese.

The old man replied in Sriluurian. "This is my store, and I am your elder! I may smoke if I choose to do so! You are here because you cause your mother grief. She is too tolerant! In my store you will abide by my rules", he shouted with a rasp, and then added, glancing over to a spherical crystal statue displayed behind the counter, he added, gently, "Quay willing".

The youth said nothing, but refolded his arms. As the elder slouched back into his chair, he looked up to see Yala Sard and her Weequay companion standing before him.

"Ahh! Welcome, Weequays! Blessings of Quay be upon you on this, the holiest of days!"

"Blessed month of plenty, Weequay, and glory to Quay on this day", replied Yala Sard, and her companion nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hah!" scoffed the youth. He glanced at Yala Sard, and then, turning to the old weequay, said in Huttese, "You make a fool of us to call her weequay, grandfather. This human is just common Hutt Space scum, like everyone else on this sorry planet, except that she likes to play weequay like a _wermo_".

Reacting without hesitation, Yala Sard's Weequay companion walked to the side of the counter, carefully avoiding the merchandise littered about, and finding a bare spot of the counter, reached over it and grabbed the youth by the scruff of his shirt, pulled him out from behind the counter, and grabbing the front of his shirt, pushed him against the wall and stared him in the eyes, which flashed first with alarm, and then fear. The boy shuttered for a moment under the Weequay's gaze. After a silence, Yala Sard's companion said, "You dishonor Quay to show a weequay unkindness on this, the holiest of days. It is written: _He who does ill to his fellow Weequay on Quay's holy month cannot feel the glow of the holiest moonlight_. I suggest you apologize, Weequay".

Yala Sard's face flashed embarrassment, but rather than blush, her skin took on a sickly green tone. With a tone of discomfort she interjected to her companion, in Huttese, "It's ok, Crunchy. Just let it go".

She was cut off by the elder weequay, not at his feet, his pipe discarded on the table. "Apologize to her, Grandson!"

The youth turned his gaze to Yala Sard, whose usual look of resolve had mutated into an uncomfortable and awkward glance as she struggled to meet his eyes. "Forgive me, Weequay", choked the youth in Sriluurian.

"Blessings of Quay unto you, Weequay", she replied, also in Sriluurian. Her companion released his grip of the youth, and relaxed his posture as he stepped back to the front of the counter. The youth stood in a daze, blinking.

"Forgive my fool of a grandson, Weequay", said the old man, relaxing his stance. "Ever does he show disrespect, and so his mother has given him to me to try to manage him here in this store. I would think", he added shooting a glance at the boy, "that he would have enough sense not to insult my best customers, and moreover the heroic weequays who tracked down those vandals and did not even exact a fee. Truly do you glow with the light of Quay, and that my insolent ward should speak to you so on the Month of Plenty brings me great shame".

"All is forgiven, Weequay", replied Yala Sard's companion. "Let us remain jovial on this, the holiest of days".

"Yes, yes, indeed!" The old Weequay replied with a tone of relief, and he returned his pipe to his mouth. "And now my friends, what brings you to my humble shop?"

"We're looking for some Ko'nu", said Yala. "We're out, and Quay instructed us to get more".

The aged Weequay puffed on his pipe, and chuckling, said, "It is late in the Month of Plenty to find Ko'nu on Nal Hutta, Weequay. I have not had it on my shelves in weeks. However, for you, my good friends, you may have some of my private reserve". Turning to his grandson, he said sternly, "Whelp, go and fetch two bottles of our best Ko'nu from the back". The boy, still dazed, stared blankly for a moment, but catching the eyes of Yala Sard's companion, he scrambled to his feet and disappeared through a door to the stockroom.

As they waited for the boy to return, the old weequay sat down in his chair and began to muse. "A young weequay needs the support of his clan, and that is hard to find on the streets of Nal Hutta. Ever since his father – you remember my son – returned to Quay, the boy has been nothing but trouble. I have no regrets for my son's choices – truly he was a martyr in the eyes of Quay, fighting against the invaders as he did – but the boy is too much of a handful to his mother, and I am too old to guide a young weequay back to the moonlight".

"All those who are truly Weequay will find the moonlight, elder", replied Yala Sard's companion. "I know this well".

The old weequay sighed in acknowledgment, and they waited. Several minutes later, his grandson returned, holding two dusty vessels, each sealed at the top with a cork. As he set them on the counter, his grandfather said, "I picked these up on my last pilgrimage to Sriluur. A member of my clan, a very skilled weequay, brewed it. I don't have much remaining, but I gladly give these two bottles to you, Weequays". With the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped the dust off of the bottles, revealing a reflective glass that gleamed a coppery brown.

"How much for both?" asked Yala.

"It is becoming hard to get Ko'nu of this quality on Nal Hutta", the old Weequay replied. "For many years I have made my livelihood with this shop, and always there were enough weequays in the employ of the Hutts to keep a steady flow of income. Quay has always blessed me with prosperity. But now", he said, waving his hand wistfully, "with the occupation, the Imperial tariffs are so high…" He trailed off, but then, catching himself, took another deep draw from his pipe, and blew it out in a series of rings, and then said, "But the Month of Plenty is not for such worries. For you, dear Weequays, who are pious in the way of Quay, and who have always offered your services when I have needed them, I give this to you, on this holiest of days, on the house".

"You honor Quay with your generosity", said Yala Sard's companion, and Yala added, "Thanks".

Soon the pair departed the sanctuary of the weequay store and were again assaulted by the torrential downpour and the other myriad offenses of the Nal Hutta street.

"Let's get that breakfast", said Yala. "The _Island on the Jewel_ is on the way back from Little Sriluur, and they make good gamorrean chilled stew, and I need something cold on a day like this".

The two went forth in the rain, each cradling a bottle of Ko'nu, plodding along in the endless puddle of the sidewalk, a murky mixture of rainwater and the filth that ever permeated the Hutt metropolis. They retraced their steps, and soon the soothing familiarity of the weequay quarter gave way to the usual lewd chaos of the sprawling capital of Hutt Space, invigorated by the disarray of the storm, which added a tone of hectic desperation to the populace, who at this point in the late morning had in large numbers withdrawn themselves from the shelter of their dwellings to subject themselves with horror to the barrage that met them in the exposure of the public thoroughfares. Yala Sard and the Weequay may have seemed, perhaps, unusually stoic in their endurance of the onslaught, for though they silently took note of the myriad figures that scurried past them in the maelstrom, they continued on at a steady pace, the breakfast awaiting them echoing the spiritual nourishment that they shared on this morning. The crowds they passed shuttered as they begrudgingly consented to the assault of the deluge, ignorant to the day's religious significance, which imparted upon the pair a gloss of tolerance for the crazed crowds who shoved past them, and an indifference for the rain that saturated the pious Weequay's braids and periodically blinded his comrade as it dripped from her hair and into her eyes.

They journeyed onward in this manner for a while, drawing closer to their dwelling, and then slid off into a side street to enable the prerequisite detour for their desired meal. At length, they came to large café with a neon sign that read, "_Island on the Jewel_". The perimeter of the restaurant was encased by awnings covering an outdoor eating area, completely devoid of patrons, a ghostly eye of the storm that raged all around. Yala Sard pulled open the milky glass door, and she and the Weequay entered. The bustle inside the café betrayed the abnormality of the emptiness of the tables outside. Within, the chatter of myriad conversations in a handful of languages blended with the din of clinking glassware and utensils to create a cacophony that rivaled that of the storm outside. A variety of models of waiter droids darted between tables, taking orders, refilling glasses, and shepherding dishes back and forth between the kitchen and the customers. The room's unruly din filtered up to the rafters like the smoke of its patron's cigarettes, and resonated back downwards like the heat and humidity imprisoned in the unair-conditioned chamber.

Approaching the front desk, Yala Sard and the Weequay were met by a 3PO protocol droid, its faded blue paint flaking to reveal the original grey plating beneath. "Welcome to the _Island on the Jewel_", the droid said in Huttese. "How many sentients does your party contain?"

"Just the two of us", said Yala Sard.

"We have several booths available", said the droid, "but unfortunately there will be a short wait if you require a table".

Turning to her companion, and speaking in Sriluurian, Yala Sard said, "Let's eat outside. It's hot as Mustafar in here, and we can be alone". She paused for a moment, and then said wistfully, "Besides… I like to watch the rain".

The droid interjected in Sriluurian, "You are welcome to speak in your native tongue. I am fluent in over 6 million forms of communication".

Yala shot an exasperated glance to the Weequay.

The droid continued, "You are welcome to sit in our outdoor seating area, but if I may, I would like to point out that there is currently a formidable rainstorm outside. Most of our customers have chosen to dine inside for breakfast today".

"Outside is fine", Yala replied flatly in Huttese, and gave her companion another look. He said nothing, but emitted a smell of mild amusement.

The protocol droid led them outside, and to a pair of cerulean plastic, egg-shaped chairs, which clashed with the unpainted metal table tinged with spots of red rust. In the shelter of the overhang, Yala removed her weapons and her rain poncho, and hung them over the back of her chair. She ran a hand across her brow, wiping away a thick layer of sweat and rainwater. The Weequay removed his fore pike and leaned it against the table, within close reach, and kept on his raincoat. Sitting down, they placed the precious Ko'nu bottles near the center of the table.

The droid left, and the two stared out into the rain without speaking. Yala broke the silence only to say, "Let's make sure to get that roast in the oven as soon as we get back". The Weequay nodded, but said nothing, and they continued to meditate quietly upon the rain. Their reverie was soon interrupted by a faceless black SE8 waiter droid bearing menus.

"Welcome to the _Island on the Jewel_" the droid intoned. It moved to place the menus on the table, but Yala motioned them away with her hand.

"I'll have the Chilled Gamorr Mint Stew", she said. Glancing to her companion, she asked, "Do you want the same?" He nodded silently.

"Make it two", she said to the droid, and added, "And bring out some cold water as soon as possible".

"Very well", said the droid, and disappeared.

They waited, and at length, Yala said, "I haven't seen rain like this since I lived on Naboo, when I was very small". Her companion acknowledged her silently, but remained quiet. They continued to watch the street. The ongoing scene of people passing through the rainfall became a hazy blur as they relaxed in their seats, the various characters of the Nal Hutta morning becoming interchangeable as they filtered past. At length, however, Yala took note of a particular Rodian stopped beneath a lamppost across the street. Even from the distance he was at, Yala could make out a bright red feather in the brim of his fedora, and as he clutched his trench coat to shelter a cigarette so that he could light it in the rain, he looked up, and his eyes met hers.

Their contact was broken as the droid reappeared with two classes of iced water. Forgetting momentarily about the figure across the street, Yala said, "Thank Quay for this", and took a deep gulp of the cold liquid.

In succession, six loud bangs brought an end to the relative serenity of two at their table. Looking up, they saw the rodian in the feathered hat firing six shots from a small slugthrower revolver at the pair. Both bottles of Ko'nu shattered in an instant. Rising immediately to his feet, the Weequay grasped his force pike and began to move towards the street, but hearing a yelp of pain, he looked over his shoulder at Yala to find that her left upper arm was gushing green blood. The sticky, verdant sap poured down upon the table. Glancing briefly back at the street, the Weequay could see that the rodian was now gone. As he rushed to tend to his friend's wounds, she again let out a cry of pain, and said, "I swear to Quay, I hate slugthrowers".


	3. Chapter 3

The electronic door to the parking garage swished open, and through it shambled Yala Sard and her Weequay companion. With her right hand, Yala clutched the makeshift bandages that bound the wound on her left arm, fashioned of cloth napkins from the restaurant, and now stained a vivid green that sparkled in the florescent light of the apartment building's garage. She leaned against her companion as they staggered through the doorway, her rain-soaked form leaning against one of his shoulders. Across his other shoulder were slung her purple rain poncho and her holstered weapons. They passed through rows of landspeeders belonging to the building's residents, and soon they approached a beat-up old V-35 Courier, its faded artichoke green paint punctuated by several dents of varying sizes. With a heavy heave, Yala slumped from the Weequay's grasp and positioned her weight against the hood of the speeder.

"Wait here", the Weequay said to Yala. "I will get the keys from the apartment".

Yala looked up, and momentarily forgetting her pain, she said, "While you're there, put the roast in the oven".

"That is not important at this time, Weequay", her companion replied. "Your health is our highest priority".

"Yeah, but Doc Isnedu's place is a long drive from here, and we still need to get more Ko'nu", she objected.

Ignoring her instructions, the Weequay repeated, "Wait here", and began to walk towards the lift up to the building's dwelling quarters.

"_Crunchy_, don't ignore me", she objected in Huttese, her voice bristling with a mixture of her annoyance and the strain of her wound, but he continued to walk towards the lift. He pressed the button, and then looked over his shoulder at her and said, "It is written, _The Weequay who cares for the sick and wounded amongst his clan truly serves Quay, and in this is the highest fulfillment of Quay's Law_". The door to the lift pulsed open, and he got in, and soon he was gone.

Yala Sard let out an exasperated sigh, and leaned back further onto the speeder, but was interrupted by another wave a searing pain emanating from her left arm. She cleared her mind, feeling fully the burning throb of the wound, and in acknowledging it, it seemed to dissociate from her and move into the background. Her thoughts again turned to her companion and her irritation with him regarding the roast. She closed her eyes, and soon within her inner landscape she saw herself, a child of only a dozen years, sitting at the table of the galley of the _Moonlight's Promise_, with a meal set out before her. Across the table sat her Weequay companion, his braids not quite as long or as numerous as they were now, his eyes closed as he sang hymns in a language that at the time seemed alien and unknowable. The meal between them was modest – a simple Sriluurian noodle soup, a salad consisting of whatever was available on the last planet they had visited, and a small loaf of common bread – but when she had looked upon it, it seemed like a banquet fit for a Grand Moff. It had at that time been two years before she had eaten that well, two years since Tatooine, two years since her mother…

The scene in Yala's mind's eye began to fracture and tessellate as it became engulfed by pale white moonlight, which like a cool breeze brought her soothing relief as she reclined on speeder's bonnet in the muggy swelter of the garage, and she let out another deep sigh, this one more serene than the last. The pain returned, but she hardly noticed it. She opened her eyes just as the lift doors opened again, and her companion emerged holding spool of medical gauze and a medical tourniquet.

The Weequay approached Yala Sard, and without a word, began to fasten the dull brown tourniquet to her upper arm, and then proceeded to remove the bloodsoaked bandages they had improvised at the restaurant. "Let us hurry", he said as proceeded to swiftly dress the wound again with the sandy colored gauze, "for though I was right to remind you of our priorities, you were correct, Weequay, in that time is of the essence on this day".

The Weequay unlocked the doors to the landspeeder, and opened the passenger door for Yala, who was still clutching her arm, and they got in. The interior of the vehicle was sparse, empty save for a small glass orb representing Quay that dangled from the rear-view mirror from a silver chain, and the speeder carried a faint, musty smell, despite its apparent cleanliness. The Weequay tossed the rain poncho and their weapons in the back seat, flipped on the ignition, and within moments they were in motion. Soon they exited the garage and were on the streets of Bilbousa. Immediately, the windshield was assailed by heavy rain, and the Weequay turned on the windshield wipers at full power. Increasing their speed, he piloted the craft deftly through the rain and traffic, zig-zagging through streets with ease that betrayed an intimate knowledge of the city's thoroughfares. He turned to Yala Sard, and said, "Call Doctor Isnedu's office and let him know we're coming".

Yala reached over with her right hand to the holoprojector on the dashboard, and her finger hovered over the speed button that corresponded with their intended recipient. She hesitate for a moment, and then, withdrawing her finger slightly, she turned to her companion and said, "I'm sorry that I snapped at you on this holiday, Weequay. It was wrong of me to do so".

"Fret not, Weequay", replied her companion. "A Weequay's lot is toil, and there is much to do to please Quay, and little time in which to do it. But we must trust that all is as it should be on this holiest of days". He gentle placed his hand upon her shoulder, carefully avoiding her wound, and then said, Let us call the doctor, lest our plans be further led awry".

Yala smiled softly at her companion, and then pressed the button. The holotransmitter's dial tone began to buzz, and after a moment, the holoprojector lit up, and in the pale blue light appeared the image of a 2-1B medical droid from the torso up.

"Greetings, Yala Sard. How may we assist you today", said the droid, his voice humming in a soft baritone.

"Is the doc in, 1B? We need to see him immediately", asked Yala.

"Yes, Doctor Isnedu is in his office", replied the droid. "How soon should we be expecting you?"

"We're still pretty far. How soon can you get there?" she asked her companion.

"15 minutes", said the Weequay.

"Very well. That is copacetic. The doctor will be expecting you". The droid paused for a moment, and then added, "If I might inquire, are you bringing any medicine for me?"

"We have what you need", interjected the Weequay. "We will discuss business when we have finished with the doctor".

"Everything is in excellent order, then", replied the droid. "I will inform the good Doctor of your impending arrival". The hologram flickered off.

Yala turned to her companion and asked, "Do you really think we can make it all the way to the Jeclani District in 15 minutes?"

The Weequay's pheromones betrayed a tone of amusement as he replied, "Surely we can". Immediately, the landspeeder zoomed forward, and the Weequay began to dart around cars with even greater finesse than before. Those he passed looked on with surprise, for the speed at which such the outdated and battered craft maneuvered through the rainy day traffic betrayed both modifications imperceptible when the craft was still, and a deft pilot who could truly make use of them.

Yala flicked the switch on the audio receiver, and moved the dial around until she found the desired station. Through the speakers, a kloo horn scurried over a melody that moved quickly but consistently, like the speeder that carried them, and the torrent of raindrops through which they sped. Yala allowed the music to anoint her senses with ecstasy, but emerged for a moment to turn to her companion and ask, "Can you grab a cigarette from my left pocket. My arm hurts too much to reach it".

Without a word, the Weequay reached into her pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and placed it directly in Yala Sard's mouth. With another hand he reached into his own pocket, from which he produced a lighter. With a crackle of electricity the small device ignited a spark, and the Weequay held it up to Yala's cigarette. She inhaled deeply, soaking in the array of sensations of the journey, and the pain from her wound became but one facet of the elaborate texture of the day.

On the traveled, wordlessly, listening to the blaring music as they flashed through the Nal Hutta streets, their journey sprinkled periodically with a peel of thunder outside, and by Yala Sard occasionally ashing her cigarette in a compartment in the center consul designated for such a purpose. Soon, they found themselves in a neighborhood that appeared cleaner than those before, at least by the grimy standards of a Hutt metropolis. Upscale apartment buildings lined the street, and there was even the occasional tree that graced the vicinity of the sidewalk. Off in the distance, one could see looming above the bourgeois dwellings buildings more grandiose and opulent still, which dwarfed even the largest of the surrounding high rises – the palaces of some of the Hutt crime lords.

"You made good time, Weequay", Yala Sard said, acknowledging their arrival in the Jeclani District.

As Weequay parked the landspeeder in front of a tall apartment building, he responded, "It is written: _The path before the Weequay who upholds the Laws of Quay and cherishes them truly shall be free from encumberment_".

Moving quickly, the Weequay existed the landspeeder and opened Yala's door. She lurched out, still clutching her left arm, upon which the new bandages were already a stained a mossy shade with syrupy, vegetable blood. After helping her out, the Weequay locked the speeder and pressed the autotint button on the keys, and the windows clouded into a dark black that obscured the weapons on the back seat from uninvited eyes.

Together they struggled through the rain from their vehicle up to the doorway of building, marked in Huttese letters that identified the name of the apartments as the _North Pole_, alongside a depiction of a Wampa. Beside the door was a small keypad, into which the Weequay typed a code from memory. The device emitted a high-pitched buzz, followed soon by the low voice of the medical droid, who asked, "How may I help you?"

"It's Yala Sard and Crunchy the Weequay. Let us up", Yala spoke at the comlink. Without a reply, the droid buzzed them up, and the door made a loud buzzing sound, indicating that it was unlocked. The Weequay opened the door, and they entered. They were greeted by a sparse, minimalistic lobby, with a pair of sleek black chairs and a matching table. Upon the table were several periodicals that betrayed the class of the building's inhabitants; indeed, the room may well have been on Coruscant or Alderaan, rather than Nal Hutta. Yala and her Weequay companion regarded this with indifference, but the air conditioning in the room was a welcome reprieve from the tropical storm outside. They proceeded to the turbolift, a much newer model than the one in their own apartment, and the Weequay pressed the button with an arrow pointing upwards. Immediately, the transparent glass door the lift opened, and the pair entered. The interior was simplistic and clean, lacking the ever-present smell than lurked in the lift of their own apartment building, and even here in the elevator the temperature was cool, even cold. The pair glanced at an array of buttons displaying numbers for 62 floors. The Weequay pressed the button marked "62', and the lift took off, gently at first, but increasing its speed gradually enough to prevent any alarm, but with enough intensity that they were soon at their destination.

The lift doors opened, and the pair walked out into a lavish penthouse apartment. They entered the sprawling living room, its grey marble floor reflecting the array of avant-garde light fixtures that tangled from the ceiling, a variety of glowing abstract shapes placed with immaculate precision to allow for the room to be thoroughly illuminated while somehow remaining soothingly dim. Other pieces of art peppered the room, sharing it with an array of large bookshelves lining the walls. The interior of the room was sparse in relation to its size, but off to the right the floor dipped slightly as it gave way to a small flight of stairs, beyond which, upon a white rug of exquisite white nerf wool, two black leather sofas rested in the shadow of a bar stocked with a myriad of liquors from a myriad of worlds. Here, awaiting the arrival of the pair emerging from the elevator, a morseerian leaned against the bar with one arm. With his other primary arm, he held a luminous lime green beverage, which he sipped through the filter on the facial mask strapped to his conical head. His remaining two arms, smaller than the others, were tucked casually into pockets on the white environment suit that clung tightly to his entire body, save for the legs, which terminated in bell-bottoms, out from which peaked the tips of shiny black boots. Only the dusty brown scales of his oblong head gave a glimpse the body beneath.

At the arrival of his ragged guests, the morseerian set down his drink, and pressing an intercom button on the bar, he said into a speaker, "1B, our patients have arrived. Please meet me in the living room". He turned to face the pair, who were now approaching the bar, and walking to meet them, he said, "Yala Sard and Krun Sha'ee the Weequay! It is an unexpected pleasure to have your company on this Weequay holiday! Although", he added gesturing towards Yala Sard's arm, "it appears that for you the pleasure of my company is limited. What did you get yourself into this time?"

"I got shot twice with a slugthrower", replied Yala.

Peering at the bloodstained dressings through the black goggles of his mask, the Morseerian said, "That's a lot of blood loss. You did well to apply a tourniquet, so well done there. Why don't we get those bandages off and take a look at the wound. Please", he added, gesturing with one of his smaller, lower arms towards the nearest sofa, "feel free to sit down".

"It's fine, Doc", winced Yala Sard. "I don't want to get green all over your nice couch".

"Nonsense", the doctor replied. "I wouldn't let you two come to my house for things like this if I cared about things like that. Please, please, sit down". As she sank into the Banta leather sofa, he added as he started to remove her bandages, "You know I have to convert the whole suite from methane to oxygen before you come over? You don't think I wear this getup when I'm home alone, do you? I usually only the atmosphere settings for dinner parties. You two really should come next time... My my, you were shot pretty badly. You're lucky that you got your blood from your zelosian side! A human would be dead from losing this much blood". He glanced over his shoulder as the 2-1B droid entered the room, bearing a kit of medical equipment, and soon the droid was at his side.

Grabbing the kit from his assistant, he instructed, "1B, prepare two syringes of bacta, chloroplast variant 2".

"Certainly, Doctor", the droid replied, and disappeared again.

Opening up the bag and taking out surgical gloves, the Morseerian said, "I'm going to remove the projectiles myself, if you don't mind. Surgical droids are good, but I didn't go to medical school for no reason, you know, and it's not every day that you get to remove slugthrower shots, far less from the arm of a half-zelosian".

Yala nodded, but the pain was burning quite badly again, and she said nothing. Noticing, the doctor said, "The bacta should help with the pain, not much longer now". Soon the droid returned bearing two large syringes of blueish-green liquid, and taking one of the syringes from the droid, the doctor got to work. With his two primary hands he worked with durasteel medical implements to swiftly remove the bullets from her arm, and with his other two he sporadically gave small shots from the syringe to the affected area, and as he did so, a saccharine smell like that of artificial fruit flavoring filled the room. With the slugs removed, he injected the rest of the bacta from the syringe, and then, grabbing the second one, injected it in full into Yala Sard's arm. Her expression began to relax, and as she looked down at her arm, the bacta began repairing the wound before her eyes. All the while, her Weequay companion looked on, silently.

Catching her breath, Yala turned to the Morseerian and said, "Thanks, Doc. I really hate slugthrowers". Glancing about the splatters of green blood on the couch, she said, "Sorry about the mess".

"No no no", the doctor replied, "Don't worry about that. I moved to Nal Hutta because I thought it would be interesting. Clearly my regular gig pays the bills", he said, gesturing with a hand to the room around them, "but what good is a nice spread like this if my bounty hunter friends don't drop by now and then to spill green blood from slugthrower wounds on my stuffy sofa, eh?" He chuckled, and Yala Sard smiled.

Speaking at last, the Weequay interjected, "Quay smiles upon those who give aid to his people, especially on this holiest of days".

"Ah yes! I hope your little mishap hasn't sent your holiday too far awry, eh?" replied the Morseerian.

"We should get back, actually", said Yala Sard to the Weequay.

"Oh yes, please, go enjoy your Month of Plenty. I just want to go prepare you a solution that will help raise your chlorophyll count, since you've lost so much blood. I should only be a few minutes". With that, the doctor got up, picked his drink up off the bar, and whisked into another room.

The moment he was gone, the medical droid said, "I trust you brought me what I need".

"Oh, 1B", laughed Yala Sard, "Doc Isnedu was so pleased just to be of service to us. Isn't that joy enough for you?"

"We have what you seek", said the Weequay. "But we need information from you".

Yala looked at him inquisitively. He continued, "The rodian that shot at us was wearing a fedora with a red feather in it. He used a very antiquated slugthrower, a six-shooter revolver. Do you know him?"

"I do", said the droid, "But as you know the good Doctor's morseerian sensibilities bind him to a very strict code of secrecy in regards to his clients".

Glancing at the green hue of her own blood beside her on the sofa, Yala Sard said, "Yeah, thank Quay for that".

Continuing, the droid said, "If Doctor Isnedu were to learn of any indiscretion on my part in compromising that confidentiality, I would suffer severe consequences. My risk is worth a lot".

"We will give you three cards' worth of doses, droid", said the Weequay.

"This is satisfactory", said the droid, "but I require a taste up front to confirm the quality of the medicine".

Yala grinned and said, "1B, has the quality of our coding ever let you down?"

Reaching into his pocket, the Weequay produced three unmarked datacards, and handed one to the droid. The droid hastily inserted one of them into his information jack, and fell silent as he uploaded the single-use files of the spice simulation. After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice the same drone, yet his demeanor somehow more relaxed. "This is good stuff. Yeah, I'll take it".

As he reached his hand out for the remaining cards, the Weequay reminded the intoxicated droid, "Tell us about the rodian in the feathered hat".

"Oh yeah, that's Sleeyo", said the droid. "You _really_ don't need to worry about him".

"Tell us more", said the Weequay".

"I mean, there's not much more to tell", said the droid. "He's _innocuous_, as far as Nal Hutta scum go. He's a _small fry_".

"Yeah, I know", said Yala Sard. "Who uses slugthrowers? And he got more shots in our Ko'nu than in me".

"Who does he work for?" asked the Weequay.

"No one", said the droid. "He's just some small time gambler who thinks he's hot. He came to the good Doctor looking for prescription-grade spice. He probably burned all of his bridges with the usual dealers".

"He's not associated with any of the kajidics? Besadii?" asked Yala.

"Nah, this guy's only ties to the Hutts are his debts. He's just a small-time hustler".

"Could he be Black Sun?" asked the Weequay.

"Do you think some shrimp like that would work for Black Sun?" asked the droid.

"Yeah, seriously, Crunchy, what Black Sun hitman uses slugthrowers?"

"Do you know where we can find him?" asked the Weequay.

"I actually do know where he's shacked up right at this very moment, as a matter of fact".

"Send the coordinates to us", instructed the Weequay.

"And don't upload the rest of those files first and forget", said Yala Sard, "or we're cutting you off".

At that moment, the doctor emerged holding a small plastic bottle in one hand, and a drink in another. He walked over to Yala Sard and handed it to her, saying, "Take these, once right away, and then once in the morning, once at night, until they're gone. Let me know if there are any side effects".

Interrupting, the 2-1B droid said, "Doctor, my battery requires charging. I am going to retire to my quarters, and will emerge when I am charged".

"Yes, yes", said the doctor, and waved a small hand dismissively, and the droid left. As he left, Yala Sard smirked and quipped, "Enjoy your charge".

The doctor sipped his drink, and then, as though reminded of it, looked up and said, "Something to drink! Well, I know you don't want alcohol, my zelosian friend", he said to Yala, "But what about you, weequay? I have some good Savareen brandy I just got in".

"Another time, Doctor", said the Weequay. "We are grateful for your services and your hospitality, but we have much to do on this holiest of days".

"Oh, yes, yes", said the doctor. "Don't let me keep you any longer. You know, I once had the pleasure to be visiting Sriluur during the Month of Plenty. It would be hard to travel there now, of course, but at the time it was a sight to behold".

"Truly, it is", said the Weequay, and for a brief moment a Yala detected a melancholic odor to waft from his pheromones.

As they began to leave, the doctor called after them, "Take care my friends! Avoid slugthrowers! Quay be with you on your holiday! And do think about coming to my next dinner party!"


	4. Chapter 4

As their speeder glided through the stormy streets, the high end apartments began to transition to the usual seediness characteristic of the rest of the city. Passing a tavern, the Weequay navigated past a tumult of Nal Hutta citizens who blustered about as they spilled out of the shelter of the establishment and into the thick of the rainstorm, which continued to intensify. As a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, a spark lit up within the speeder as Yala Sard ignited another cigarette.

Simultaneously, a green button on the center console flickered on. Yala Sard pressed the button next to it, and the screen lit up with directions. "The droid actually sent that message", Yala said, her voice carrying a tone of surprise. She read the directions to the coordinates aloud, and then said, "This is all the way out in Saubera Marsh. Do we really want to schlep all the way out to the boondocks just to deal with some two-bit, slugthrower-toting rodian?"

"It is unwise to ignore such an attack", replied the Weequay. "It is right and proper that we deal with him now, and find out what his motivation is".

"Yeah, I guess that's true", said Yala Sard. She took a drag of her cigarette, and then, exhaling, said "I still think this has the mark of the Besadii Kajidic. If they were going to make another move on us, they'd outsource it to a nobody like this guy".

"I concur, Weequay", her companion replied.

"Still, though", said Yala, "Should we be doing work like this on this of all days? Even if we get the roast in now, it's not going to be ready until late, and anyway, we really shouldn't be doing business today".

The Weequay responded, "It is written: _On the Month of Plenty, be at peace, but if an enemy of Quay's people should spill Weequay blood, respond in kind_. This isn't business, Weequay, but a matter of honor. I remember when I was young, Houk colonists once raided one of my clan's camps mere days before the holiest of days. We did not hesitate to retaliate. You and I must defend our clan at all costs".

Yala Sard took another deep draw of smoke, and then blew it out in one great breath. "You're always right, Crunchy", she said. "Okay, let's do this".

They drove for some time, in and out of neighborhoods, some populated by particular species, some a diverse blend of the myriad beings that served the Hutts. Occasionally they drove past areas marked by flags with the symbols of different Hutt kajidics, the glyphs of each clan representing their dominion the area, a reminder to the inhabitants of whom they served, and a warning to other kajidics. Yala's cigarette gradually grew shorter in length, and at last met its fate and came to rest in the ashtray. Yala turned the music up, and wiped the perspiration off her brow and adjusted the neck of her shirt, which clung to her in the humid swelter of the old speeder. On they drove, across the sprawling metropolis, and another cigarette was lit, smoked, and extinguished before the clusters of urban fortresses gave way to the more spread out residences of the suburbs. These were not the sumptuous domiciles of the bourgeoisie, though, but run-down, decaying track homes, their paint flaking, their yards unkempt, many of their windows barred. At one time it may have been designed for Nal Hutta's middle class, but that was now a distant memory. On a street corner, they passed nikto and an aqualish exchanging credits and spice, and on another, a gamorrean gestured elaborately with his hands, identifying himself as an affiliate of a gang allied with the Anjiliac Kajidic. As they grew close to their destination, the Weequay activated the speeder's autotint, and though the two of them surveyed the neighborhood unhindered, they knew that their own appearance was now safely obscured.

At length they reached their destination – a weathered white house with a covered porch, upon which a male rodian in jeans and a white tank top sat in a chair, a shotgun slugthrower in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other. He took a swig as they drove past, seemingly taking no notice of them. "Karking slugthrowers", said Yala, her voice laced with distaste. "Who in the galaxy uses slugthrowers? Amateur hour". They drove past the house on their left side, reached the end of the block, and made series of three left turns, looping around the beginning of the block again, and then parked.

"How do we want to do this?" asked Yala.

"Their guard is far from alert", said the Weequay. "If I roll down the window, can you get him in one shot, Weequay?"

"Crunchy, come on", Yala replied. "Do you even need to ask that?"

"Very well". Her companion continued, "If we take out the guard, we can storm the house. Our only concern is that the one we seek will escape through the back".

"Yeah", said Yala, "It's too bad we don't have a silencer with us. It's possible that he'll stand his ground though".

"It is possible", said the Weequay.

"If he runs, one of us could wait behind the house. On the other hand, if he doesn't run, it might be better to go in there together. If this is a Besadii operation, they've probably got some heavier guns in there with him. We'll just have to guess and pick a strategy accordingly".

"There is no need to guess", replied the Weequay, "for all things may be known through Quay. Let us ask for his guidance on this holiest of days".

"Did you bring the questioning bones?" Yala Sard asked.

"They are still at home", the Weequay replied, "But we do not need them, Weequay. Let us ask Quay directly. Let us look past the Veil of Moonlight".

Yala furrowed her brow anxiously, and said, "I don't know, I've only done it twice, and I don't know if I could do it under pressure like this".

"Twice you have looked past the Veil, and twice you have seen clearly with the eyes of a true follower of Quay", he responded. "There is no better practice, Weequay, than to do it, and no better time to do it than this holiest of days".

"Okay", said Yala, "You're right, of course".

"Let us begin", said the Weequay, and he turned off the music.

In unison, the pair shut their eyes, and turned their palms upwards, their hands resting on their knees as they sat in the speeder. For a moment, there was silence, save for the patter of rain. The sweat on their brows thickened as they emptied their minds, staring into the dark void of their closed eyes. Soon, though, the Weequay began to chant, intoning a sequence of syllables with no semantic meaning, but which resonated through his vocal cords and into their collective consciousness – _Quay No Bor Sa Lo, Quay No Bor Sa Lo, Quay No Bor Sa Lo_. Soon Yala Sard joined him in his mantra, and soon the vision behind her eyes became illuminated by soft, pale light. The glistening, milky moonlight engulfed her more and more, and soon she could feel it surrounding her body like soft linen, and at last it penetrated her skin and filled her utterly. The chanting stopped, and all became silent as the moonlight became the totality of her awareness, but at length something else appeared, a speck in the white luminescence at first, then growing larger and larger, a series of formless shapes that slowly coagulated into a recognizable scene. The silence was broken by the sound of a blaster shot, and soon, Yala Sard could see the rodian in the fedora with the red feather, kneeling on the floor in front of a beige couch in a dingy living room, his hands gripping the revolver as his arms rested on a the brown wooden coffee table. His hands trembled as he pointed the slugthrower at the door, and his eyes glistened with fear, and in a moment, the door was kicked open with a loud thud. What entered through the doorway, though, was the luminescence of the moon Quay, and soon the scene began to dissolve once more into the silvery glow. Again, it permeated, and she felt the mystical union of oneness with her god. The light became softer, and before it completely faded away, her eyes shot open, and she found herself again in the humid car parked on the side street of the rainy Nal Hutta suburb.

Her companion opened his eyes at the same time, and the two automatically turned to face each other. "What did you see?" asked the Weequay.

"He's going to try to stay in fight. But he's cowardly, no real threat. Is that right?"

"I have seen it, too, Weequay", he said, placing a hand gently on Yala's shoulder. "You are, as ever, strong with the force of Quay, blessed be his name".

"Blessed be his name", repeated Yala Sard.

They collected themselves for a moment, and then Yala Sard said, "Let's go".

"I will roll down the window as we pass", said the Weequay. "Make your shot quickly, and then I will lead the charge into the house".

"Sounds good".

The speeder took off again, and the Weequay took a U-turn on the broad suburban street, then turned right, right, and right again, circling the block clockwise this time to come from the other direction. As they did so, Yala grabbed her holsters from the back seat and strapped them to her chest, leaving the poncho discarded on the floor. At last they approached the house again, this time on their right side, and Yala withdrew one of her weapons from its holster. Pulling up in front of the house, the window cracked just enough to a blaster to peak through. The rodian with the shotgun took a gulp of whiskey, glaring at the car, yet left his weapon resting at his side. In an instant, there was the flash of a laser bolt, and a moment later the rodian fell over in his chair, dead.

In a matter of seconds, the Weequay turned off the speeder, grabbed his force pike from the back seat, and the two of them exited the vehicle. They ran towards the door, and were met by an overgrown lawn that stood between them and the house. The rainstorm had transformed the grassy patch into a muddy quagmire, and as they ran forward, one of Yala's rain boots became submerged in the swampy mess. As she stopped to free herself, her companion charged on, and with a single kick, the door flew open, and he ran inside.

He was met by the rodian in the fedora, quivering as he pointed his pistol at the door. The Weequay dodged to one side, and the rodian began to fire several shots, but missed. Before he could fire again, the Weequay jabbed at the rodian's hands with the force pike, a ripple of electricity surging through the tip of his weapon, and the rodian jumped back, stunned, and dropped his weapon. The rodian moved to grab his gun, but before he could, the Weequay pressed the point of his pike, now no longer electrified, against the rodian's neck. The rodian leaned back on the couch, and started to stammer, without saying any words in particular.

Yala Sard walked through the open doorway, muddy and wet, and seeing the cornered rodian, she said in Sriluurian, "Oh good, you've got him. That was easy. Except I almost lost a shoe in there". Turning to the cowering rodian, she added, in Huttese, "You don't take very good care of your lawn".

"Who sent you to shoot at us", growled the Weequay in Huttese.

"No one! I swear! Please, have mercy!" squeaked the rodian.

"What kajidic is paying you", asked Yala. "Whoever they are, I can't imagine they're paying _you_ much. You should just tell us".

"I don't work for any of the kajidics", repeated the rodian.

"Who sent you, then? Why did you shoot at us?"

"My brother – you killed my brother – Leezno. I wanted to avenge him, for honor", he said, rubbing the stun wound on his hands nervously.

"Echuta! Is _that _what this is about", said Yala rolling her eyes.

"You know nothing of honor", the Weequay spat, pressing the tip of the force pike tighter against the rodian's throat. "Leezno embezzled 35,000 credits from the Desilijic Kajidic, and he sold glitstim laced with chuba poison under the Desilijic name".

"Yeah", added Yala Sard, "20 Spacies died from that bad spice. He definitely got what was coming to him".

The rodian continued to shake with fear. "When they found my brother they said there were signs of… some sort of ritual… decapitation…"

"Don't speak of our ceremonies", barked the Weequay. "The rites of Quay are not fit for such profane lips".

"What are you going to do to me?" asked the rodian.

Shifting back into Sriluurian, the kept his eyes on the rodian, but addressed Yala Sard as he said, "He shot at you, Weequay. He is yours to kill".

Yala Sard raised her blaster, and walked over to the couch. She held it to the rodian's head, and he began to weep.

"Ugh", said Yala Sard, and withdrew the blaster from his head. Holstering it, she turned to her companion and said, her Sriluurian peppered with Huttese profanity, "This pathetic wermo isn't worth the blaster charge it would take to blow his brains out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to see this koochoo dead, but… isn't it written in the holy texts, something like: _Take vengeance on those who hurt Quay's people, but on the Month of Plenty, show mercy_?"

The Weequay thought for a moment, and then released a wave of pheromones that, to those who could read them, were like a sigh of deep resignation. In Sriluurian, he said, "It is written: _Give no quarter to those who transgress by taking the blood of Quay's people, for your vengeance pleases Quay, but if mercy is your course, let it be so on the Month of Plenty, when it pleases Quay more_". Pressing the force pike still more sharply against the rodian's skin, he hissed in Huttese, "Get off Nal Hutta".

"What?" said the rodian in alarm.

"Get off Nal Hutta, and pray you never meet us again".

"Honestly", interjected Yala Sard from the background, "I'd avoid Hutt Space entirely".

The Weequay removed his weapon from the rodian's throat, who paused only a moment to collect his hat before scrambling out the open door. As he passed by her, Yala Sard said, "Quay be with you". He said nothing, but continued to scurry past, and took off down the street. He left his slugthrower discarded on the floor.

Before they could reappraise the situation, the pair heard a voice from the adjacent room.

"Hello?" it cried out. "What is happening?"

The voice came from a door, slightly ajar. Yala and the Weequay shot each other a glance, and as she drew a blaster in either hand, he gripped tightly to his force pike. Kicking open the door, the pair burst into the room.

There, under a flickering florescent light, in a small, outdated kitchen, upon black and white checkered linoleum, in a black plastic dining chair, there sat a zeuol, his hands bound in rope behind his back, each of his legs tied to the legs of the chair. In alarm, he shouted, "Don't shoot!" – but then, getting a better look at the weequay duo entering the room, his expression changed from fear to relief, and then to outright joy.

"I'm saved!" he exclaimed. "Thank the Cosmos that you're here!"

Yala Sard and the Weequay looked at each other, and she shot him a puzzled glance. They looked at the captive zeuol, scrutinizing his appearance. His ropelike braids of cream colored hair fell in every direction against his milky white head, and his massive eyes, great globes as black as the night, sunken in deep eye sockets, betrayed no emotion, yet his high, smooth brow, devoid of eyebrows, had changed from an anxious furrow to be raised in excited delight. His clothes were silken and delicate, and a soft, chocolate brown, the cuffs of his shirt lined with frills, and his gold buttons were embossed with the emblem of the Desilijic Kajidic.

Eventually, Yala Sard began to speak. "Do we… know you from somewhere?" she asked, slowly.

"Yes! I mean, I think so! I've met you at one of Quisa the Hutt's parties. You are Yala Sard and Krun Sha'ee the Weequay, are you not?"

They continued to stare at him, wracking their memories in search of his identity. Seeing this, he continued, "I'm Den Nosil, Quisa's jeweler".

As a spark of recognition passed between the pair, Yala began to bubble with laughter. She turned to her companion and addressed him in Sriluurian.

"Quay works in mysterious ways", she said. "He's handed us the easiest bounty ever, and we can't collect it".

"Quay is great in his ways, truly. We can collect the bounty, Weequay. This is not a regular job. The spoils of an honor feud can always be claimed, even on this holiest of days. We would, in truth, insult Quay not to accept this gift".

"Then let's do it now", said Yala. "It's too late for that roast now, but maybe we can scrounge something else for the Feast of Plenty if we hurry back soon".

Turning to the zeuol, she said in Huttese, "We're as lucky to find you as you are lucky that we found you, friend". Moving quickly, she untied his fetters.

"Let's get out of here", said the zeuol, "before anyone else comes".

"I agree with you, pal", said Yala Sard, "although Sleeyo's not sending anyone else, trust me".

As she began to move back towards the doorway, the jeweler interjected. "Wait", he said. "I need to grab my bag". Yala Sard nodded, and the zeuol scurried over to one of the dilapidated kitchen cupboards. Opening it, he withdrew a small duffle bag of black leather, and then turned back towards his liberators.

"Ready?" Yala asked with a tone of bemusement. The zeuol nodded, and with that, the three of them went through the doorway and back into the living room.

There, they were met by five weequays and a nikto aiming an assortment of blasters at them.

Beyond the front door, several more weequays loitered near the doorway, holding a variety of weapons. From amongst them emerged an aging weequay, dressed in a mixture of blues and reds, a bowl-like hat upon his head that dipped into a point on his brow. Over his eyes were green goggles, and he carried an ornate cane, and though he used it as he hobbled past the others, he seemed nonetheless to walk with a flourish as he entered the room.

"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed dryly, at once flamboyant and subdued. "Yala Sard and Krun Sha'ee! I had expected this to be an easy job, but I must say, I deeply appreciate you doing it for me!"

"_Hondo_", muttered Yala Sard.

"You should not be working bounties on this day", said her companion in Sriluurian. "Why are you not observing the holy month of Quay?" he asked rhetorically.

"I could ask the same of you!" the old pirate chuckled in Huttese.

"This was not a bounty for us", said Yala's companion, again in his native tongue. "This was an honor feud to avenge an attack on our clan".

"Your clan?" asked Hondo Ohnaka facetiously. "Ah yes! You like to pretend your partner is a weequay. But my friend, this is Nal Hutta, not Alderaan. A weequay can enjoy a human woman without having to try to pass her off as weequay".

"I am no friend of yours, _apostate_", her companion fumed.

Yala Sard said in Huttese, "You're a wermo, Honda. You have no idea what you're talking about".

"Perhaps this is true", he replied with wave of his hand. "But that is neither here nor there. Whatever you are, weequay or not, you find yourself in a rather difficult situation, do you not? Why not just hand over the jeweler, and we can avoid any unpleasantness that might ensue otherwise. You're good bounty hunters, but not this good. And besides", he added, smirking at Yala's companion, "you wouldn't want to spill the blood of your fellow weequays on the Month of Plenty, would you? Or is are your kin only those whom you decide are part of your clan?"

Yala detected the frustration of her companion's pheromones, as though he had said to her, _This is futile, there is nothing we can do._

She thought back on the day, and how disastrous it had been. _Shot with a slugthrower and outgunned by scum like Hondo Ohnaka. And now we didn't even get the roast. The day might have been okay if Quay hadn't told us to drink more Ko'nu_. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration came over her.

"Well then", said Hondo Ohnaka. "What will it be?"

As her companion began to relax his grip on his weapon in defeat, Yala shouted out "The Feat of Ko'nu!"

"What?" asked Hondo.

"Our clan challenges your clan to the Feat of Ko'nu", she said. "I will represent our clan. If we win, you give us the jeweler".

Her companions scent shifted, as if to say, _Very clever, Weequay_. He said aloud, "And you will publicly acknowledge the one they call Yala Sard as a Weequay".

"Yes, that too", said Yala Sard. "And if you win, I renounce my claim to be a follower of Quay publicly, and… and you can have the name of our spice connection for the stuff we've been supplying Quisa with".

Hondo scrutinized Yala's small frame, and then laughed. "That is a tantalizing offer, I must admit. There's only one flaw in your challenge. Only a weequay can initiate the Feat of Ko'nu, and you are no weequay".

"Oh, I'm sorry", said Yala Sard, her voice rich with sarcasm. "Should I make it known that Hondo Ohnaka doesn't think his gang can win a drinking contest".

"Okay, okay", said Hondo, grinning. "You cut me to the quick, Yala Sard. The Hondo Gang accepts the challenge of the Feat of Ko'nu from, uh, your ambiguously weequay clan. But not here. Back at our base".

"Anywhere's fine by me, Hondo", said Yala Sard.

"Then we will go", said Hondo, "but you, Yala Sard, will ride with us, as will the jeweler. I don't want any tricks or funny business".


	5. Chapter 5

Amidst the clamor of drunken voices and the clinking of glasses, Hondo Ohnaka gesticulated with his hands to his men and began to shout. Beside him Yala Sard stared through the smoky den of the Ohnaka Gang's Nal Hutta lair at the assemblage of pirates, a myriad of criminals collected here and there from the margins of the galaxy over the decades-long career of their Pirate King. "Quiet down! Quiet down!" he shouted. Gradually, the carousing of the pirates began to subside to a low murmur, their sabaac games ceased as they put down their cards, and those in repose emerged from their spice-induced stupors and turned to acknowledge their leader. When he had at last attained a semblance of silence, Hondo continued.

Surveying the congregation of his piratical followers, he paused a moment, allowing the visitors to his headquarters take in their surroundings. The Weequay, looming behind Yala Sard, emitted a pheromonal message that conveyed a distaste for the motley collection of characters before them, populated primarily by weequays, but rounded out by sundry other Hutt Space denizens – a few aqualish, a fair handful of nikto, some ishi tib, several gamorreans, a pair of rodians, a lone sakiyan, and even, in the corner, a jawa. Yala Sard looked upon the lot of them, and the scents of tobacco smoke, cheap alcohol, spice, sweat, and adrenaline interwove with the smell of her companion's disapproval and entwined around her, a fibrous rope of intoxication, binding her internal landscape, a monolith of certainty, to the flickering phantasm of her lurid surroundings, and as she glanced from the side of her eyes at her compatriot, she merely smiled.

When at last he felt his dramatic pause complete, Hondo shouted, "Happy Month of Plenty!" A roar erupted from the crowed, and they raised their glasses in the air.

"You see", he said over the cheers, turning to Yala Sard's companion, "Even we_ apostates _can appreciate the holidays, in our own humble way". Motioning again for silence, he resumed his address to his men.

"We have with us tonight some most honored guests – Yala Sard and Krun Sha'ee. Their work for Quisa and Jabba and all the rest of the assorted Desilijics speaks for itself – but all work and no play makes a dull Weequay. Or something like that. They now challenge us to the Feat of Ko'nu. Let's show them how Ohnaka Gang celebrates the Feast of Plenty!"

Again his words gave way to rowdy shouts, and presently a figure emerged from the throng, bubbling up from the unruly mass of pirates to stand face to face with Yala Sard. Looming before her was a great mass of a gamorrean, a great ogre of being who towered over above her at nearly two meters high. His massive torso was bound in a coal-colored leather jacket, which bore on either of its broad shoulders several glimmering auric studs, and upon his green, pig-like head, one of his eyes was obscured by a black patch. The tips of the horns on his head were likewise gilded, and a large gold ring pierced his septum, adding to the porcinity of his appearance. His denim trousers were unadorned, his massive feet bare.

"I will drink for the Ohnaka Gang", growled the gamorrean.

"Yes, yes, of course you will, Jumbo", chuckled Hondo. "And your clan has already volunteered the human Yala Sard to drink for you, so let's get this show on the road!"

From the corner, behind Yala Sard and her companion, amidst the amused cackling of Hondo's men, the zeuol jeweler chittered, "Great Supernovas, he's the size of a bantha! You guys seem pretty in over your heads".

Yala Sard looked her challenger up and down, and then turned away from him and turned to meet the eyes of Hondo Ohnaka.

"I object", she said. "I cannot drink the Feat of Ko'nu with him".

"Oh ho! Are my men too much even for Yala Sard? Quisa's jeweler is an observant fellow. If you back out now, you forfeit the Feat of Ko'nu – but you know this, of course, with your intimate knowledge of Weequay law", he laughed sarcastically.

"I cannot drink the Feat of Ko'nu with him, because he is not a Weequay".

Hondo burst out into hearty laughter, and then at length, wiping a tear from his eye, said, "Oh, ho, that really is rich, Yala Sard. Surely you must recognize the irony in the statement. Look – I get it. I am a pirate. I make a profession of inventing my own rules. An apostate, to use your friend's rather _severe_ language. So if you want to play it willy-nilly with Weequay traditions, by all means, do so. But you can't have your cake and eat it, too! If you're allowed to volunteer a non-weequay for the Feat, then surely, so are we!"

Glaring deep into the eyes of the Pirate King, she responded in a voice that was quiet, almost soft-spoken, but unwaveringly firm.

"I **_am_** a Weequay".

Her resolve startled the pirate, and for a moment he faltered, unable to access a witty retort. Her companion, too, was surprised by her candor. He interjected, "It is not our place, Weequay, to question the laws of another weequay clan. We may question your opponent's piety, but that is a matter of Quay's Law, not clan law. If this is who has been selected, let us not make strife with another clan by questioning their judgement on this holiest of days". His tone was characteristically flat, and indeed, to those in the room who could not read the signature of his clan's pheromones, his words may have seemed to chastise his companion – but Yala Sard, smelling them, detected his subtext of admiration for her stance.

"Very well", she said. "Let the Feat of Ko'nu begin".

"Let the Feat of Ko'nu begin!" Hondo echoed in an enthusiastic bellow. Parting the crowd with his hands, he led the guests to round, wooden table, large enough to seat the contestants and a dozen or so observers. As Yala Sard took her place, standing at the nearest spot on the table, the gamorrean positioned himself on the other side of the table, directly across from her. Reaching for the vibroblade he wore at his side, he unsheathed the scimitar, pointed the blade across the table at Yala Sard, and then with a thud placed it down on the surface before him. Meeting his gaze, Yala unholstered each of her blasters, and in a single motion, pointed them at the gamorrean, and then set them to either side of her place at the table. Then, simultaneously, the competitors took their seats.

Soon, the other places at the table were filled in by spectators. The jeweler trembled as he clutched his leather bag on his lap, though whether from anxiety, excitement, or some combination thereof was anyone's guess. The fragile being, prize of the context about to unfold, was flanked to the left by Yala's Weequay companion, his force pike still at the ready across his back, and to the right by another weequay, one of Hondo's men, who was similarly armed. The rest of the seats were soon claimed by the senior officers of the Ohnaka Gang, while the rest of his crew gathered around, encircling the table in a great throng. Hondo Ohnaka himself positioned himself beside Yala Sard, and maintained his jovial demeanor, even as he scrutinized her, scanning her with his eyes, which betrayed a bemusement at his guest that underlay his outward amusement at her.

Clapping his hands twice, Hondo said, "Bring the Ko'nu!" and soon a weequay brought a large, unlabeled glass bottle and a shot glass to either side of the table. Turning to Yala Sard, he said, "This is good Ko'nu – pirate Ko'nu – strong. I'd pace myself if I were you".

Ignoring him, Yala Sard poured the shot glass and then drank it in a single gulp. Without pausing, she then refilled it and took a second shot. A wave of soft chuckling passed through the audience of pirate onlookers, and Hondo laughed, "I like you, Yala Sard! You have nerve! You'd fit in well with my crew – er, clan", he added glancing her Weequay comrade.

The gamorrean filled his glass, and with two fingers of his massive hand, he raised it to his mouth and emptied it. Then he repeated the feat, once, twice, and finally thrice. "Ha ha", laughed Hondo, "now this is a party. Let's not let them have all the fun, though! Let's get some drinks flowing".

Bottles of various substances began to pass through the crowd, and as the residents of the room gradually became intoxicated, the atmosphere became even more relaxed than before as the Feat of Ko'nu continued. Four shots became six, six became eight, and soon, each participant had consumed ten shots of Ko'nu. The gamorrean retained his stoic silence, seemingly unaffected by the activity, and Yala Sard remained characteristically cool, her posture erect, her demeanor collected, though in her eyes a fire burned. With the tenth shot, however, she sunk her face into her hands for a moment, and then rose up with both, her hands wiping the sweat from her face and brushing away stray hair that had escaped her bun.

"Oh ho, is something wrong my friend? Do I detect that you are feeling, perhaps, a little bit sick?" asked Hondo.

"Of course I'm feeling sick, _Hondo_", Yala Sard answered calmly, in a manner that was almost subdued, but nonetheless crackled with electricity. "It's the middle of the hot season on Nal Hutta, we're in the grip of a tropical storm, and this room is like a sauna. Can't the Ohnaka Gang afford air conditioning?" She looked him in the eyes, and her mouth curled up in a wry smile.

Hondo Ohnaka slammed down his glass, slapped his thigh in his chair, and laughed loudly. Wagging his finger at her, he said, "Oh, I do like this one. Someone get this woman a fan or something!"

The merriment continued as Yala Sard and the gamorrean pressed on at their task. Tobacco smoke and the fumes of burning spice embraced each other as they wafted through the room, and the walls echoed with jokes, songs, and drunken, slurred declarations. The gamorrean behemoth showed no emotion, though, but as the ten shots gradually doubled to twenty, he began to totter slightly in his chair. Yala Sard remained sharp, her mind alert, her posture composed, a smirk on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. Hondo continued to observe her as he sipped his drink.

At last he remarked, "You do drink like a Weequay, that is true Yala Sard. But surely someone as intelligent as yourself isn't so deluded to think that you are actually another species. I must confess, I burn with curiosity to know why you behave as you do".

Breaking his silence, the Weequay, who hitherto had not uttered a word through his observation of his companion's participation in the Feat, responded to Hondo's question.

"You misspeak, Weequay. Truly, she is a Follower of Quay".

"Yes, yes", replied the weequay pirate, "I know that in our language _Weequay_ means _Follower of Quay_. You know what I mean, though".

"I know what you mean, Weequay", Yala's companion responded, "but you are wrong in your assumptions. It is written: _Those born to my people cannot be stripped of their birthright, and I shine forever upon them – but the true test of a Weequay is not of flesh and bone, but of moonlight_".

The Pirate King stroked one of his long braids in thought, and then retorted, "It does say that, doesn't it. But doesn't it also say: _Share not my hymns with the profane, the multitude of beings of the stars, but those with the blood of Sriluur pump Quay's light through their veins, and their voices are worthy of my song_". He added, "Don't look so surprised Krun Sha'ee. I grew up on Sriluur, just like you, and was taught the same lessons you were. I may not be sufficiently pious for your liking, but I've read those dusty old books once or twice".

Yala Sard poured a shot of Ko'nu, and raised it to her lips, but hesitated for a moment. Taking it away from her mouth, she interjected, "Isn't it also written: _The Clans of Sriluur are promised victory, and Quay is their highest god – but the blood of the Quay's people is not born from the soil, nor imparted in the mother's womb, for it is the moonlight that falls on the New Moon, when all is dark, save for the devotion that lights one's heart and makes them Weequay_". With that, she took her shot.

The room fell silent, and Hondo twirled around his fingers, contemplating her words. "It does say that, doesn't it? I suppose I can't argue with you over semantics. Clearly you know your stuff". He chuckled, and then threw up his hands. "No matter", he shouted, "Weequay or not, whatever you are, you have a human body, and I think you've bit off more than you can chew this time. You can hold your drink, but you can't outdrink a gamorrean pirate. Let's finish this, shall we?"

Yala Sard and the gamorrean pressed on, shot after shot. The crowds chatter gradually faded, and soon all were watching the pair of competitors with silent intensity. Each rounded their thirtieth shot, and continued onward. The gamorrean's wobbling became more violent, and as he took his fortieth shot, it was clear that despite his enormous size, he was now very drunk. Yala Sard's smile widened, and she remained seemingly unaffected. She took another shot, then another, then another, and raised her glass to the Gamorrean across the table. He poured a shot, and as he drank it, he gagged a little. He poured another, his hand shaking, but before he could consume it, he began to totter. The shot glass clanked upon the wood of the table, its contents spilled out upon the pirate next to him, and the gamorrean fell face first into the table, which shook under his weight. There he remained, head down, passed out.

The pirates erupted into a cheer, unconcerned in their inebriation that one of their own had failed the test, and several of the buccaneers behind Yala patted her on the back in congratulations.

Standing up and gesturing with his hands in an attempt to quell the unbridled crowd, Hondo hollered, "All right, all right. You're really something, Yala Sard. You can pound back Ko'nu like the best of them. But can you hold it? Prepare the final Feat of Ko'nu!"

From behind, Yala Sard was soon grabbed by rough hands and presently a blindfold was placed over her eyes. From the crowd, she overheard unseen voices, one of them explaining to another, "If she throws up, the contest is a draw!" The pirates around her continued to grasp her, and soon they spun her around and around, faster and faster. At length, she stopped, and the blinder was removed.

The room silent, but crackled with electric anticipation, Yala Sard blinked for a moment as her eyes readjusted to the light. Then, silently, with poise, she extended her arms and touched the tip of each finger to her nose. She then grabbed a bottle from the table beside her, and raising it above her head, she placed it upon her scalp. She then walked toe to heel several paces, the bottle remaining perfectly balanced. An "Ahh" passed through the crowd. Finally, in a single deft motion, she dipped her chin, allowing the bottle to fall into her waiting hands, and then snatched one of her blasters from the table, and with lightning speed threw the bottle up into the air, and shot it with expert precision, sending shards of glass raining upon the crowd, which erupted into a flash of applause and a thunder of cheers.

"Well, well, well", exclaimed Hondo. "I am a reasonable man, and will admit defeat when it is due. The clan of Yala Sard wins the Feat of Ko'nu!"

Yala Sard shot a smile to her companion, and he silently acknowledged her. As the celebration continued around her, a glass containing a pale green liquid was pressed into her hands. She looked up at Hondo Ohnaka, who said as he handed it to her, "Here you go my friend, drink the Caazehti tea. It's a true weequay tradition for those who win the Feats. It's good luck, they say. You see, I may be an old pirate, but just maybe I might be as much of a weequay as you". He winked at her, and in a single gulp she drained the glass.

The liquid was intensely bitter, came as no surprise to Yala Sard – Caazehti meant "bitter herb" in Sriluurian, after all. It was not the bitterness that caused her alarm, but the saccharine aftertaste that tried in vain to mask the sharp taste of the tea made her mind flash with panic. She hid it well, though, as she commented, "This is very sweet".

"Ah yes, that's a little Ohnaka Gang specialty. Caazehti tastes like bantha fodder, I've always added Kashyyyk Bomble honey to make it a little more palatable. That honey's not easy to get in these Imperial days, but in my line of work I have access to a lot of rare cargo. You see, that's what I mean – I am weequay through and through, but a pirate at my core".

Yala payed no attention to the pirate's amicable rambling. Her head began to swim, and her vision blurred. Her composure, immaculate up to this point in the evening, became visibly compromised – her impeccable posture crumbled under the weight of the sensation now capturing her consciousness, and she placed a hand on the nearest chair and began to lean on it. "It is _very _sweet", she repeated.

Hondo and his men, lost in the excitement of the night, took no notice of her transformation, but her Weequay companion rose immediately to his feet, and said, "We really must be going. The evening is growing late, and soon the moment of Quay's Fullness will be upon us".

"Ah yes, this is true", replied Hondo. "But what need is there to go? Come, spend the Fullness with us, and experience an authentic Ohnaka Gang Month of Plenty. It may not be a genuine Sriluur ceremony, but I promise you, you won't be disappointed".

"We thank you for your generous offer, Weequay, and for the graciousness of your clan", Yala's companion replied, "but our clan must adhere our ways as well".

"So be it! Well, take good care of our friend here", Hondo said, and the jeweler flinched as the pirate slapped him on the back. Still holding his bag, he got to his feet, and at length, Yala Sard, the Weequay, and their bounty exited the building. Just before they left, Hondo turned to Yala, and said, "Well, Yala Sard, perhaps we will be fortunate enough for our paths to cross again. Until then… may the force of Quay be with you, Weequay".

The trio stepped out into the unrelenting rainfall, and as they walked to their speeder, Yala staggered, her path weaving to either side. She leaned upon the Weequay's shoulder, seemingly the only thing giving her stumbling gate any particular direction. Lightning rippled through the sky, followed soon by echoing thunder. Turning to her companion, she attempted to whisper to him, but in fact spoke loudly as she declared, "I'm _drunk_".

"Well of course you are! You drank enough to kill a rancor!" peeped the jeweler.

"It can kill a rancor, but it can't kill me", Yala laughed. "I'm not a rancor, but my mother was zelosian".

"Oh?" said the jeweler, uncomprehending.

"Alcohol doesn't affect us. It's like drinking water. But they had to lace that tea with honey, didn't they?"

The jeweler looked to the Weequay inquisitively, still not understanding.

The Weequay sighed, and explained, "Sugar is a potent drug to zelosians". He gave the pheromonal equivalent to a heavy sigh, and then turning to his stoned companion, said, "And you really cannot handle your sugar, Weequay".


	6. Chapter 6

As their V-35 Courier sped through the dark roads leading back from the swampy suburbs to the city of Bilbousa proper, Yala Sard began to speak over the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers and the pounding of the rain that seemed to know no end.

"I can't find my cigarettes", she said. "Like, I can't find them at all. I think I'm blind. I think Hondo's men poisoned me".

Patiently, but with irritation, her Weequay companion said again, "We have gone over this, Weequay. Your zelosian ancestry prevents you from seeing at night".

"Oh yeah", said Yala Sard, and then added, "Do you know where my cigarettes are?"

"Wait", chimed the zeuol jeweler in the backseat. "I'm still a little confused. You're half-zelosian? Is your other half human? I thought zelosians weren't true near-humans – I thought I read somewhere that they can only breed with other zelosians".

"Near-human is a humanocentric term", said Yala Sard. "You get out of here with your Human High Culture garbage. Go back to Coruscant".

"I'm not human", said the bemused zeuol.

"Oh yeah, right", said Yala Sard. "And yeah", she added, "half-zelosians aren't a _thing_. I'm _anomalous_. You could ask my mother about it – but she's gone", and with this last sentiment a surge of emotion rose in her voice. Detecting it, the Weequay removed one hand from the steering wheel, reached into her pocket, and procured a cigarette from the pack therein, and placed it to his lipless mouth. He then lit it, and then popped it into the unsuspecting mouth of his blind companion. She took a drag from it as it dangled there, and then, raising her hand to pull it away, exhaled. "Oh", she said with a tone of delight, "a cigarette. Where did you come from?"

The zeuol piped in again, and said, "That's really interesting. Do you find you have a pretty good mix of zelosian and human traits – biologically, I mean", he added nervously.

"I don't know, man", said Yala Sard, staring out into the blackness of her vision. "I mean I bleed green blood, I can't eat ice cream without getting stoned out of my mind, and I can't even see my cigarette right now. But when I get bloodwork done it comes up half-human. I honestly don't know what I am". She paused wistfully, and then added in an abruptly lighter tone, "I have a great doctor, though. He's really great. He always knows what I need, whatever I am. We should go see him, Crunchy. Do you think he's up?"

The Weequay responded, "We must return to our apartment, Weequay. We have just enough time to get home to celebrate the Feast of Plenty and observe Quay's Fullness".

As though just remembering what day it was, Yala Sard exclaimed, "Oh no. Oh no, Crunchy. The roast. There's no time for the roast".

"I know, Weequay. It is of minimal importance. We can pick up food for the Feast when we're closer to home. It is written: _Heed always the Laws of Quay, and honor the traditions of his people, but if Quay calls a Weequay to the stars, let there be no contradiction between the necessities of the planet to which his quest has led him and the necessities of his fealty to the one who gave him the quest, whose moonlight shines wherever there is a Weequay_.

"You're so wise, Crunchy", said Yala Sard. "I'm so glad you teach me so much".

Her sentimentality was noticed, but not acknowledged. Instead, the Weequay addressed the passenger in the back seat, and said, "Den Nosil – I suspect you are anxious for your adventure to end, and my companion and I wish greatly to return you to Quisa the Hutt and collect our bounty. However, we are faced with a predicament. We do not time to drive to Quisa's palace and make it back to our home to observe the proper rituals required of us on this day – yet if we leave you unattended, the reward for your rescue will surely go to another bounty hunter. I trust you will understand our situation, and not object when we invite you to stay with us tonight. You will be an honored guest at our Feast".

"Oh, no, really, that's perfectly fine", said the zeuol. "My life's not all that exciting, really, and you guys seem like pretty nice people. I'm honored by the invitation".

"Then it is good", said the Weequay. "Quay smiles upon those who aid his followers in the fulfillment of his Laws".

Their speeder pressed on through the storm, and at length they returned to the streets of Bilbousa, familiar to them, yet distorted tonight through the unabated downpour. The streets of the great Hutt metropolis, usually busy late into the night, were mostly empty. Few speeders were on the road, and the rare unlucky souls still caught in the street hurried to their destinations with an air of dire urgency, their clothes drenched utterly by the storm, their faces full of dismay. As they made their way closer to their sanctuary, the Weequay asked, "What do you want to eat for the Feast of Plenty".

"Oh, wow, that's a question", said Yala Sard. "What do you think?" she asked the jeweler, staring at nothing in particular.

"Who, me? Uh, well, I don't really know this part of town. I'm not picky".

"We have yet to try the pa'lowick cuisine at the restaurant that just opened on our block", suggested the Weequay. "Acquiring food there would be prudent, as it would save time".

"No, I don't really _feel_ like pa'lowick food", said Yala Sard. "What about that nikto place on 602nd?"

"Isn't nikto food really spicy? Spicy food doesn't really agree with me", said the zeuol.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be picky", said Yala Sard, rolling her eyes. "It's ok, though. You'll be ok. This is green nikto food, not red nikto food. It's very different. You'll like it".

"Oh, uh, ok", cooed the jeweler. "I've never had that before, but that sounds quite alright".

After some time, they pulled up to the restaurant. Yala Sard said, "I would go in, but for some reason I can't see anything right now. I can still go in if you want".

"It is fine, Weequay. I will go in", replied her companion. "What do you want?"

"Just get me what I always get", said Yala Sard. "And get this guy the same thing, because it's really good", turning again to an empty space in the back seat, she repeated, "You'll really like it".

The Weequay exited the speeder, and Yala Sard leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and began humming to herself, while the zeuol twiddled his thumbs. Remembering that he was in the back seat, Yala said, leaving her eyes closed, "You really must be some jeweler for Quisa to but such a reward on your head".

"Well, you know", said the jeweler, "You've worked for Quisa. His interests are… unusual, by Hutt standards anyway".

"Yeah, that's for sure", said Yala. "He's not a bad guy to work for".

"No, he isn't", agreed the jeweler.

They waited a while longer, and soon the Weequay returned. Placing two brown paper bags in the back seat, he put the speeder in reverse and started to pull out. Smelling the feast that awaited, Yala Sard, opened her eyes and said, "Oh wow, you got food. That was a good idea. We can have it for the Feast when we get home… woah, I can't see anything".

"She really is drunk", said the zeuol, and turning to the Weequay added, "at least you're sober. Your driving has been great".

"Thank you", said the Weequay, "but I actually had a little bit of glitterstim at the Ohnaka Gang's camp".

"Oh man, they had _glitterstim_ there", said Yala Sard. "_Echuta_. Of course I go to a party and instead of being offered good spice I get a lousy sugar buzz".

"I don't know much about spice", said the jeweler. "Are you safe to drive on that?"

"He's fine", said Yala Sard. "He drives better on glitterstim".

"I only had a small amount", said the Weequay, "and we are close to home".

As they drove on, the road became difficult to see as the intensifying rain assaulted their speeder. The Weequay gripped the wheel, and slowed down, his innate prudence far outweighing any intoxication in considerations of caution. Yala Sard continued to recline in her seat, and the jeweler stared out the back window. They continued in silence, until the speeder abruptly came to a violent halt as the Weequay slammed on the break. Lurching back into his seat, the jeweler said frantically, "I thought you said you were ok to drive!"

The Weequay ignored him, threw open the door, and ran out into the rainswept street.

"What's going on, Crunchy?" asked Yala Sard of her absent companion.

In a matter of moments, the Weequay returned, this time opening up the back passenger-side door, through which he heaved the body of a young Weequay, mostly limp, seemingly unconscious save for some incoherent mumbling.

"What's happening?" asked Yala Sard.

"It is the grandson of the weequay they call Ano Tal. He is overdosing on ryll".

Speeding through the storm, they were soon back at their apartment building. The Weequay parked in the garage, and then, turning to the Jeweler, said, "We are in apartment number 22, on the second floor. Grab the food and help my companion into the turbolift, and meet me there". He then exited the car, opened the backseat door behind Yala Sard, scooped the boy into his arms, and carrying the sick weequay, he soon disappeared into the elevator.

Yala Sard blinked in the florescent light of the garage. "I can see again", she said.

"Come", said the zeuol, "Your friend wants us to meet him – "

"I know", said Yala Sard. "I'll grab the food. Grab your bag and follow me".

She led him to the lift, and when they arrived on the second floor, he followed her to the door of the apartment. Yala Sard typed the security code into the lock quickly, from memory, it flashed a red light and made an unpleasant buzzing sound. "_Echuta_", she said, "I'm too drunk for this". She typed it in again, this time more deliberately, and the lock made a sound resembling that of a bell ringing, and the light flashed green. Opening the door, she saw the young weequay sprawled out on the floor before the altar of Quay. Above him stood her companion, a syringe poised in his hand. Driving it down into the youth's chest, he injected the boy with clear liquid. He removed the needle, and then waited. Yala Sard and the jeweler stood in the doorway, staring. They clutched their bags tightly, their mouths agape. The room was silent, and each of them held their breath. At last the excruciating moment passed, and the boy's eyelids began to flicker open.

"Where am I? What is happening?"

"You took too much ryll, Weequay", said Yala Sard's companion.

"Please don't tell grandpa", the child moaned.

"I will not bring shame upon you and your clan on this holiest of nights", the Weequay responded. "I will send a missive to your grandfather informing him that you are safe with us. What you decide to tell him is between you and Quay".

"It's the Month of Plenty", cried the boy. "I need to get home in time for the Fullness".

"What is important now is that you rest", said the Weequay. He helped the boy to the couch, and there the young weequay curled up against a side cushion. "Rest, Weequay", said the older Weequay, "and dream of Quay's moonlight on this night". He did not need to instruct the wayward weequay again, for the boy was already sound asleep.

"Wow", said the jeweler, "that was intense. I think I've had enough excitement for a lifetime these past few days".

"Soon you will return to what is customary to you", said the Weequay, turning to the doorway, "but now we feast. The Fullness of Quay on the Month of Plenty is upon us!"

"Oh, you've got to see this", said Yala Sard excitedly to the jeweler. Turning to her companion, she said, "Weequay, let's turn on the live stream from Sriluur". The words left her drunken lips, and she heard them, and suddenly looked down, crestfallen. For a moment, neither she nor her companion could look at each other.

"What?" said the uncomprehending zeuol. "Did I miss something?"

"I'm sorry", said Yala Sard, "I shouldn't have been so foolish and disrespectful. They aren't streaming the celebration on Sriluur this year".

"Why not?" asked the zeuol.

"Several months ago, the Empire invaded Sriluur", said the Weequay. "They have met all resistance to their occupation with brutal force".

"I'm sorry", said the zeuol, "I'm no friend to the Empire, trust me".

Turning to his companion, the Weequay said, "Do not cast down your eyes, Weequay. This is not a time for sorrow, but for joy and thanksgiving. Channel your grief into the opening prayer of the Feast of Plenty".

Looking up, Yala Sard blinked in surprise, and said, "You want me to say the opening prayer?"

"With certainty, Weequay".

They set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, next to the Weequay cookbook still awaiting their preparation of the Bantha Roast. Abandoning the living room to the slumbering youth, the three of them stood crowded around the small kitchen surface as they unveiled their meal. Nodding at Yala, the Weequay encouraged her to begin. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and then began to speak.

"Glory to Quay in his fullness! His light illuminates the homes of all Weequays on this, the holiest of nights. Pale moon of Sriluur, as you approach the zenith of your waxing on this Month of Plenty, we give thanks to the blessings you have given our clan – to our victory in the Feat of Ko'nu, to the defeat of our enemies, to the presence of this guest and the glory and wealth his rescue will bring us, to the good and easy work we receive, and to our skill as warriors on your path. With the greatest earnestness we thank you for the bonds of our clan, which make us comrades and kinfolk, for the ties that bind us together are woven of your silver light. Most of all we thank you making us truly Weequays, and allowing us to worship you. We sing the praises of your name! There is no greater force than Quay! O all-wise lunar orb, grant us your blessings from now until the end of your days… we petition you also for the liberation of Sriluur. Break the bonds of our subjugators and ease the suffering of your people. Hail Quay!"

"Hail Quay", repeated her clansman, and then, quietly, the zeuol repeated, "Hail Quay".

Yala Sard looked to the eyes of her companion, seeking validation, which he gave silently through his pheromones. She breathed a sigh, and then said, "Let's eat".

As they began dishing out the meal, Yala Sard exclaimed, "Oh! That's right! The live stream is down this year, obviously, but there's a broadcast of a countdown timer that I pulled up the other day". She whisked over to their communications console, typed into the keyboard, and soon the holoprojector was flashing large Huttese numbers. The timer indicated that there were 15 minutes remaining.

The three ate, and the zeuol said, "This really is good". By and by, they finished their meal. Checking the timer, Yala Sard said, "Only three minutes left".

"Quay's fullness is upon us", said the Weequay.

"I'm really sorry, friends, I don't want to miss your holiday, but I really have to go to the bathroom right now", said the jeweler suddenly. "Where is it?" Yala Sard pointed down the hall, and he scurried towards it, but then stopped, turned around, and went to their front doorway, where he had left his black leather bag. "I'll just grab this so it's not in your way", he said, and then disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom.

"He's an odd thing", said Yala Sard. "Rather frail". Her companion nodded in silent acknowledgement.

Soon the final minute of the countdown was upon them. They migrated from the kitchen to the living room, and standing beside the young weequay sleeping on the couch, they watched in great excitement as the final seconds counted down the exact minute of the full moon on Sriluur. "3…2…" said Yala Sard. "One! Hail Quay!"

"Hail Quay" said her companion.

She grinned at him, then hesitated a moment, and then grabbed him in a warm embrace. He remained rigid, but patted her back with his hand.

As she released him, she remarked, "I think I'm coming down from that sugar high. I've probably been acting quite foolish tonight. I'm sorry, Weequay. I can't handle my sugar".

"On the contrary", said the Weequay. "You have brought great honor to your clan tonight, Weequay. I am most impressed by your words and your deeds. You serve Quay well". He paused, struggling to convey what he wanted to say in words, though she beamed at him as his pheromones already betrayed his sentiment. At last he said, "Those who say you are not a Weequay speak from ignorance. Truly you are his follower". He paused again, and then at last said, "Never has Quay shown greater mercy than when he gave me a second chance and a new clan. I am glad he brought us together".

"Oh Crunchy", said Yala Sard, "Happy Month of Plenty".

"Happy Month of Plenty", he responded.

"You know", she said a moment later, "Our strange friend handled himself pretty well, all in all. He missed the moment of the Fullness, though".

"_The force of Quay's moonlight touches each corner of the_ _Galaxy differently_, Weequay. So it is written. The jeweler honors Quay in his good will towards us, but it cannot be denied, he is simply not a weequay".


	7. Epilogue

A myriad of dreams flitted away, melding into a hypnopompic awakening, and soon this too dissipated and faded into the realm of inaccessible memory. Yala Sard could hear the rain rapping gently upon the window, a tender cascade that gave little hint of the stormy day before. Opening her eyes, she could see the first light of morning filtering through her bedroom blinds. Desiring to stand up, she took a moment to gather the will to do so, and then at last arose from her bed. Glancing down at her own frame, she saw it covered in the previous day's clothing. She shrugged, and proceeded towards the living room. There, her Weequay companion was already awake, meditating before the altar of their shared devotion to Quay. Moving past him, she clutched her head as she migrated to the kitchen, where she began to brew a pot of stimcaf. Hearing the bubbling of the percolator, her companion emerged from the serenity of his spiritual discipline and rose to his feet. Turning towards her, he said, "You don't usually drink coffee, Weequay".

"I don't usually get sugar-drunk, either", she said, and groaned.

The Weequay gestured towards the empty couch, and as Yala Sard winced at the sound of a passing speeder on the street below, he said to her, "Come, Weequay, sit down on the couch, and I will bring you your stimcaf when it is done". She obliged, and as she took a seat, he added, "You will notice that the shopkeeper's grandson is gone. Most likely he slipped away in the night. May Quay grant him guidance".

Yala Sard said nothing, but flopped back on the couch, which clang to her sticky skin in the humidity. At length, the Weequay brought her a mug, and she began to gulp down the steaming brown soup. Setting her cup down for a moment, she rubbed one eye, and as she met the Weequay's gaze with her remaining celadon eye, she said, "I don't want to do anything today. No bounties, nothing. Let's just stay here and watch the rain".

"Soon Den Nosil will awaken, and when he does, we must not hesitate to bring him to Quisa", reminded the Weequay.

"Oh, yeah", said Yala, hazily recalling the night before.

"But yes, Weequay", her companion said, "After that we may rest".

They whiled away an hour or two, conversing about the day before, the ways of their religion, and sundry other matters. Yala Sard assaulted her hangover with caffeine, and she stared out at the street, watching the remnants of the rain fall upon the Huttese city. At length, their guest emerged from their spare room. He had not changed his clothes since the day before, and his silken garments were wrinkled and disheveled as he entered the living room, still clutching his black leather bag.

"Good morning!" he cheeped, and then, "Oh my! Is that stimcaf? Could I trouble you for a cup? It normally makes me quite anxious, but I suppose this is quite an adventure, so I might as well live a little".

"You are welcome to some, but you will understand when we ask you take it to go with us", said the Weequay. "Your stay has been enjoyable, but we are anxious to return you to your employer".

"Oh yes, certainly", said the jeweler. "I'm sure Quisa will be glad of that as well!" he chortled.

Coffee was poured into a thermos, and out the door they went. Soon they were back in the speeder, heading out into the streets, where a sense of normalcy had resumed, insomuch as ever there was one on Nal Hutta. They drove for a time, and at last, reaching the edges of a wetland, parked their vehicle and got out. They walked down a long walkway of stone, and soon were at the gates of a sprawling castle. Its gothic architecture jutted up out of the swamp, its ornate spires strangled by creeping vines, and the stained glass windows bore a layer of moss.

Upon reaching the entrance, a hatch in the door opened, and out popped a mounted sentry droid.

"Ah ha!" said the droid, "Krun Sha'ee the Weequay and Yala Sard. Zox has been expecting you".

Yala Sard gave her companion a look, but they continued on as the door swung open. Passing through the familiar halls of their employer's fortress, they came to a door. Yala Sard knocked – once, then thrice, then once, then seven times. They waited, and then at last it slid open.

They entered the room, a sizable library with books in an uncountable myriad of languages that wrapped around the walls, save for one bearing a fireplace, wherein a log crackled as flames wrapped around it. In the direct center of the room stood a large aquarium, populated by fish. At the far side of the room there was also an unmarked black door.

Glancing at the fire, Yala wiped her brow, and said, "Zox is so grandiose. Only he would light a fire in this heat".

As the jeweler perused the books on the shelves, obscure tomes of esoteric knowledge, the Weequay stared into the rich blue light of the aquarium. The long, slender body of the giant pearlfish shimmered as the turquois glow of the tank flowed through its translucent body. He watched its ghastly, skull-like head as it burrowed its way into the much larger sea cucumber, a massive specimen from Mon Calamari, its form a blob as big as a womp rat. His observation of the creature was interrupted as the far door slid open, from which emerged the tank's curator – a nuffin, sharply dressed in a suit of all black, the narrow neck of his ovular pink head encircled by the high collar of his cape.

"Krun Sha'ee! Yala Sarid! At last you have arrived. I have foreseen your arrival". Noticing the Weequay observing the act of parasitism in the tank, he said, "Ah Krun Sha'ee, I see you have met my children. It is a rare pleasure to watch one of them find a new host. Truly their form is a window into the Way of the Force". The Weequay looked up and regarded Quisa's majordomo, and after a moment of contemplation, said, "Many unusual things move beneath Quay's moonlight".

"Quite", said the nuffin dryly. His dull black, beady eyes upon his flat, noseless face,, characteristic of his species, betrayed no emotion, and his meeping voice was also typical in its unassuming tone – and yet like the parasite in the tank, he seemed himself embedded with a vague air of pretension that hinted at an unseen mystery stranger still. Such qualities were unusual for a nuffin.

Regarding the jeweler, the nuffin said to the pair of bounty hunters, "You have done well to retrieve such a gem in Quisa's menagerie. And now – your weequay holiday has ended, and so you are free from the bonds of your obligations to your way. If you like, Quisa is holding one of his sessions tonight. Perhaps you will join us?"

"Another time", said the Weequay. "Today, we wish to rest"

The nuffin waved his hand, and said, "And so you shall, as all beings must". With a flourish of his cape, he revealed a pouch, and opening it slightly, the pair could see a large sum of credits inside. He handed over the reward to Yala Sard. "You will find all that you have been promised here", said the nuffin. "His Grace Quisa Desilijic Vaigig thanks you".

"We thank him, too", said Yala Sard.

Turning to the jeweler, the Hutt's nuffin majordomo stroked the bulbous red ridges that lined his head, three to each side, the only significant growths on his otherwise smooth and rubbery skin, and began to address him. "Quisa wishes to speak with you immediately, but first… we must discuss a private matter". As Yala Sard and the Weequay began to move towards the door, the zeuol held out his hand.

"Wait!" he cried, and they paused in their exit. Opening up his black leather bag, he began to dig through it. "Where is it…? Ah! Here they are". He scooped something out of the bag, and enclosed it in the palm of my hand.

"I always bring this bag with me, you see – it has my electroengraver, and some materials should I ever need them. Quisa has – very particular tastes, you know? – well, you know that. In his studies he came to employ me to craft all sorts of… talismans for him. I mean these things require really precise timing, and all sorts of… incantations, and such. But I thought – I mean you saved me, and you were such good hosts, and so friendly – I snuck to the bathroom… it was the perfect election for the force of your god, with the moon just right… here, take these", and he pressed the contents of his hand into Yala Sard's palm.

Looking town into her palm, she saw two small pendants, spheres of fine silver, each strung on a chain. Examining the orb, she saw that on each of them was written, in Sriluurian hieroglyphs, the holy name: QUAY WHO IS THE LIGHT. She showed her companion, and they remained speechless for a moment. Wordlessly, she hung one of the necklaces around her neck, and another around the neck of her companion. As the talismans dangled on their chests, the pair of Quay's disciples felt the room permeate with their deity's light, and the two of them felt Quay's bonds flow between them more strongly than ever before.

At last, Yala Sard said, "Thank you – thank you. Truly you are a friend to the Followers of Quay. May he bless you for all of your days".

Her companion added, "You are always welcome in our company, a true ally to our clan, and indeed, a servant of Quay's will".

"Very good", said the nuffin, "very good. Many mysteries unfold in the palace of Quisa the Hutt". He raised his palm to the bounty hunters, and as they departed, he added, "May the Force be with you".

The pair made haste to exit the building. When they were at last out of earshot, Yala said, "That nuffin kind of gives me the creeps".

"He is an enigma", agreed the Weequay, "but powerful".

"Well, I'm glad we're not going on any more adventures today" said Yala Sard as they approached the speeder. "You know, we never did get that gamorrean stew. Want to get breakfast?"

Her companion nodded, and they got in the speeder. As they did, Yala Sard added, "We should put that bantha roast in today, though. It will go bad in this heat otherwise".

The speeder took off, and the two Weequays traveled back into the heart of the capital of Nal Hutta. Glancing out the window, Yala Sard said, "The rain has stopped. I almost miss it". They sped into the metropolitan streets, and the beings they passed went about their day, unaware of the love of Quay that filled the inhabitants of speeder that fleetingly skirted by.


End file.
